


Short Stories

by blue_jack



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Bodyswap, Cat Tony, Challenge: cap_ironman bingo, Drunkenness, Enemas, Escort Service, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mind Control, Mistaken Identity, Object Insertion, Presumed Dead, Romance, Sharing Body Heat, Silly, Telepathy, Underage Character, challenge: avengers_tables, magical transformation, non-superheros AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 27,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short fics for my Cap_Ironman Bingo and Avengers_Tables cards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carry Me Home Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I’m going to post some of my shorter fics for the two cards I’m filling out over at the Cap_Ironman and Avengers_tables communities on LJ. These are stories that, quite honestly, should probably be longer, but I just don’t want to do it. >_>
> 
> Each chapter will be a separate fic and won’t be related to any of the other chapters, and I’ll post chapter specific warnings in the notes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every month, Tony pays an exorbitant fee to an extremely discrete company that makes sure he is never without companionship when he wants it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts “Proper use of first aid” (Cap_Ironman bingo) and “Undercover operation” (Avengers_Tables). Title from Fun's "We Are Young."
> 
> Warnings: Escort!Steve, some blood and violence
> 
> Word count: 1,400

Every month, Tony pays an exorbitant fee to an extremely discrete company that makes sure he is never without companionship when he wants it. 

He’s always been impressed by the employees they send over. Attractive obviously, but that’s the least of their qualifications. They’re well-read, knowledgeable on politics, philosophy, pop-culture, fluid dynamics, whatever he could want, he’s never been disappointed, and that’s saying something considering Tony can be a demanding son of a bitch, or so he’s been told.

Steve though, Steve is special, and the fact that he thinks so is enough to make him bury his head in his hands and groan.

Somehow, he’s developed a little bit of a crush on an escort, and isn’t that the biggest laugh in the world?

He blames Steve completely. It’s his fault for being so good-looking and funny and kind and hell, stubborn and opinionated and sexy—did he mention the sexy? Because damn. _Damn_. He once spent the whole time he’d reserved having Steve try on one outfit after another—with Tony in the room the whole time, he’s not stupid—and they’d never even gotten to the sex. 

Well. Okay. Maybe he’s a little stupid.

But he still doesn’t regret the fashion show. 

Steve had been reluctant to accept the clothes afterward—it was against company policy or something else equally inane—which Tony had found oddly endearing (but then, he finds everything Steve does endearing, and he’s going to make himself gag, he really is), but he’d insisted. He likes seeing Steve in nice clothes, likes peeling him out of them even more, and Tony can admit that he gets a bit of a thrill knowing Steve’s wearing them especially for him.

Besides, if nothing else, it’s something for Steve to remember him by.

Tony’s not naïve enough to think Steve feels the same way. He's exchanging money for a service when all is said and done, and while he likes to think that Steve’s enjoyed himself during their time together—actually Tony _knows_ he’s enjoyed himself because Steve comes like a fucking geyser—he knows it can’t last. 

That’s why he’s cancelled their appointment tonight. Rather than wait for Steve to notice he’s gotten too attached, he’s decided to end it. Time to move on to bigger and better things. Or if not that, then at the very least, it’s time to move on to something else.

Tony takes a sip from his tumbler, staring into the fireplace and reminiscing about the first time Steve had come over. They’d ended up sitting in these chairs, drinking and talking, and after a couple of hours, it’d somehow turned into a drinking contest, with Tony confident that he could put Steve under the table without too much trouble because while Steve was bigger, he’d had years of practice on his side. The next thing he’d known, he’d been waking up in his bed with the mother of all hangovers and a note on the pillow saying Steve had had a wonderful evening but maybe Tony should learn how to handle his liquor. 

It was that cheekiness that had gotten Tony to ask for him again. And then one thing had led to another, and suddenly they’re spending nearly every day in each other’s company, and they’re fucking over every conceivable surface, and Tony has to remind himself that they’re not dating, he’s paying for this, and Steve’s smiles aren’t meant just for him.

It’s nice to pretend for a while though.

He raises his glass in a silent toast to the vacant seat across from him. It’s the only reason he sees the shape out of the corner of his eye.

Tony dives out of the chair at the same time as he hears the muffled shot, and he lets out a pained gasp at the sudden intense burn in his shoulder, rolling as far away as he can, knowing his chances of getting out of this with just a scar to impress the ladies are slim to none. 

“Tony? _Tony_?”

Well, this is unexpected, he thinks, as Steve comes barreling into the room wearing skin-tight leather, and maybe it’s shock setting in, but the foremost thought in Tony’s mind is that he didn’t buy him that.

Steve throws himself at the gunman, dodging the first bullet and deflecting the second with a—is that a shield? The assassin doesn’t have time for a third, and _wow_. If Tony weren’t bleeding out on the floor, he’d be so turned on right now.

“What are you doing?” Tony grits out as Steve kneels next to him, talking into a little radio that Tony really wants to get a closer look at, although maybe not right this second, the wound like another heartbeat in his shoulder, pulsing and pulsing. He’s putting as much pressure on it as possible, and perhaps he’s biased against watching his blood run through his fingers, but it doesn’t look good. 

“What am _I_ doing?” Steve asks, and Tony shouts as Steve covers his hand with his own, pressing down, and _shit_ , that _hurts_. There goes Steve’s tip for the night, fucking hell. “What were you thinking canceling tonight? I was already downtown by the time I got the call! I could’ve been too late! I could’ve been—”

“Hey, I’m fine, it’s okay—” 

“You are not _fine_!” 

Steve tears at Tony’s shirt with his free hand, something Tony would normally be down with, but what with having just been shot and all— _oh_ , ha, yeah. He groans as Steve applies the makeshift bandage, everything turning hazy around the edges from the pain, and it’s all he can do to not throw up. When Steve lifts him off the ground, it’s a relief to let go, the blackness sucking him under, down and down and down.

\-----

“So,” Tony says. He stares at the flowers in Steve’s hand, at the clothes he’s wearing that have spent more time on the floor of his house than on Steve whenever he’s come over, and he doesn’t know what any of it means. 

He’s been briefed. Death threats, corporate espionage, possible terrorists, the need for a bodyguard, blah, blah, blah. He gets it. 

What he doesn’t understand is the guilty, vaguely hopeful look on Steve’s face.

“Tony. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asks and wonders if he could play the “recuperating from a near-fatal bullet wound card” and pretend to fall asleep. “You were just doing your—”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats, taking a step closer to Tony’s bed. “I wanted to tell you the truth—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, plucking at the thin hospital blankets. “You saved my life—”

“It wasn’t all fake—”

“Which parts, Steve?” he bursts out, and he doesn’t mean to, he wasn’t going to get into this. Tony knows that he shouldn’t be angry, or at the very least, he shouldn’t be _this_ angry. It’s not like it was ever real considering he’d been paying Steve to spend time with him, and in the end, Steve _had_ saved his life. He knows, but he can’t help feeling deceived, can’t stop thinking that even though it’d been a business transaction, it’d been an honest one, something he’d entered with his eyes open, and if he’d been crazy enough to fall in love, well, it was no one’s fault but his own. But this? “Which parts weren’t a lie?”

Luckily for him, the nurse comes in just as Steve’s about to respond. Unluckily, she tells them that it’s just a standard checkup and that Steve can stay if he wants to, but Tony says, “No, he’s done. He was just leaving.”

And Steve goes.

\-----

“I’m going to bring the car up,” Happy says, and Tony nods, signing the last of his discharge papers. 

Except when he walks outside, it’s not Happy waiting for him, but Steve, standing in front of a Prius, and of course he drives a Prius. Of course he does.

“Hi, Tony,” Steve says, wearing clothes that Tony definitely did _not_ buy him because they are ugly, like seriously ugly, and really, that's what Steve buys with his own money? He looks like an overgrown puppy, staring at Tony with big, soulful eyes and a downcast expression and damn it.

Damn it.

“I can’t believe you’re picking me up in a Prius,” he sighs, and the dawning happiness on Steve’s face makes his heart clench in his chest.


	2. His Blue Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandral referred to Loki as his “Blue Boy,” which, considering how long they’ve been at war with Jotunheim, was far kinder than Thor had any reason to expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the avengers_tables prompt “fulfilling a prophesy/destiny.”
> 
> Word count: 930

Fandral referred to Loki as his “Blue Boy,” which, considering how long they’ve been at war with Jotunheim, was far kinder than Thor had any reason to expect.

Not that he’d thought much of kindness in the beginning as he’d looked down at the blue, wrinkled infant, eyes the color of heart’s blood staring back at him. Then, he’d been angry and bitter that duty required so much of him, certain that the marriage was a punishment for his father’s sins, for even if their union brought peace to their realms, it would mean ruin for him.

_Give him time, Thor. He is but a babe, and you scarcely older. You will learn to love each other._

At the time, he hadn’t thought to question whether his mother spoke those words as reassurance or as prophecy, but he wondered now what she had seen of their life together. He had asked years later, but as with all her visions, she had held the knowledge tight to her bosom and refused to answer.

His Blue Boy.

If only it were so.

Thor could recall when he first began to view Loki as more than a burden, when Loki’s quick way with words turned from being something he scorned to something he admired. It’d been during one of their annual visits, three hours of cold and inactivity as Loki read from some heavy tome and Thor seethed over the injustice of his companions going on a week-long hunting trip without him.

_A wager then, son of Odin? Something to keep you from stomping around the room, huffing like some great, wounded beast._

A feat of strength, Loki had said. 

Of course, it was only after Thor had been toppled to the ground by magic that Loki had explained it wasn’t necessarily a feat of _physical_ strength.

How wroth he’d been with Loki at the time, accusing him of cheating and muttering vile deprecations of his honor, but months after, when he’d thought back to the stripling of a boy that had defeated him, he’d found himself smiling. 

And so it had begun. As the years went by, he’d gone from dreading their encounters to tolerating them to eagerly anticipating each and every meeting, pacing in front of the Bifrost and counting the minutes until his father arrived to accompany him, as was agreed.

Before Loki, the only knowledge he’d had of the Jotun were through warriors’ accounts—that ice flowed in their veins; that they drank the blood of their enemies; that they would sooner tear off their own limbs than show mercy or kindness to another—and while he’d realized that embellishment was part of any good story, all the talebearers were in agreement that Jotun were fierce fighters, proud, and monstrous in form and power. 

After being with Loki year after year after year, he’d learned also that they appreciated beauty, from the perfection of a snowflake to the stark monoliths carved from ice that made up their home; that they possessed a sense of humor that was at times gentle as well as cruel; that their touch could burn in such a way that made him ache for more.

He watched as Loki grew, his muscles filling out and the clumsy awkwardness of a colt turning into the confident power of a stallion. Long accustomed to the unforgiving climate of their planet, Jotun eschewed most clothing, save what modesty dictated, and there came a time when Thor yearned to touch that exposed flesh, to trace the scars that marked Loki as a warrior with his hands as well as his eyes.

And Loki? Who knew what he wanted. Not Thor, who couldn’t understand his mercurial shifts of temper, who arrived early to their meetings, only for Loki to make him wait. He didn’t know what it meant that Loki watched him more and smiled less as the years progressed but would stand so close that Thor could mark the passing of the minutes by his steady breaths. 

“Your Blue Boy has you wrapped around his finger, Thor. Have a care that he never discovers this and be tempted to abuse that power,” Fandral had said once, his tone light, but his eyes without humor.

Thor had nodded in recognition of the words, but even then, it’d been too late. There was nothing he could hide from Loki, his feelings least of all.

When he’d seen Loki for the first time, he’d thought their marriage would be the end of him. Now that he knew him better, he wondered even more if it would be true. 

“You are a fool,” Loki said, and Thor couldn’t help himself. He reached out, cupping his precious face in his hand, marveling at the ability to do so freely and without harm. He mourned the loss of blue, even though Loki had informed him it was not a permanent change. Still, it felt almost a betrayal to find this pink-skinned version of him as appealing as he did. “And I, doubly so, for your idiocy excuses you, but I previously had no such failing to blame for my feelings for you. Perchance it is madness. Or your brand of foolishness is contagious perhaps.” 

“Do you mean it?” Thor asked, searching his eyes for the truth.

“That you are a fool? Yes, there can be no doubt.”

“Loki,” he pleaded, sliding his fingers down to clutch at Loki’s tunic and dropping his head to his shoulder.

He heard and felt Loki’s sigh, his hand coming up to slowly stroke his hair. “Yes. Yes, and that, too.”


	3. Perfect for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony used to kill people from a distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Non-superhero AU, blood, violence, and minor and major character death.
> 
> For the prompts “Dark fic” (Cap_Ironman Bingo) and “Soulmates” (Avengers_Tables). 
> 
> Word count: 1,030

Tony used to kill people from a distance. It was safer that way. They were less likely to be able to fight back, it reduced the chance of any potential witnesses, and the likelihood of getting splatter on his clothes went down to nil.

But it was boring. Fucking _boring_. It was like playing the same video game over and over again, but there were no bosses to fight, and the only points were the ones he gave himself. 

Hmmm, maybe he should’ve created a theme song? Had JARVIS call out “Fatality!” or something equally ridiculous every time he—anyway, getting distracted.

The object was to get some damn excitement in his life, and killing just wasn’t doing it for him anymore. He had everything he could ever want, fame, money, power, sex, and what was left? 

Drugs? Too many side-effects. He didn’t want to live a shorter life, or to spend all his time looking for the next hit or recovering from the last one. 

Inventing? There was nothing in the world to compare with envisioning new designs and making them into reality, and Tony would sooner die than have that ability taken away from him. But if it had been able to fill the void, he wouldn’t be where he was today.

He needed something _more_.

He’d toyed with idea of giving up killing, considered taking up, hell, knitting, or building a better spacecraft than anything NASA could put together and going to outer space, and given enough time, perhaps he would've even done it. But then he and Pepper had gotten into a big fight, and she'd made a passing comment about his problems with intimacy, and suddenly, it'd become a thing, and he'd been driving home an hour later, still fuming. He’d thought he’d been doing rather well actually. He had Pepper. And Rhodey. And he couldn’t forget Happy. That was three right there. Three was more than luck or coincidence.

What did she know?

Except he’d kept thinking about it, the argument popping up at odd times over the following week. Intimacy implied exposure, implied being open and vulnerable and that really was only fun during sex, and even then, it was better when he was on the other ends of things. 

It implied letting people see him for the man he was, and that was vaguely terrifying to be perfectly honest.

He hadn’t had much luck with it in the past, what with people trying to take over his business and/or kill him, so yeah, maybe he did have a problem with intimacy, but he kind of thought he was justified, all things considered. Who wanted to open up to someone and then wait to be _stabbed in the back_ —

Huh.

Interesting.

Who said . . . _he_ had to be the one stabbed?

The first time he’d killed someone up close, slitting a guy’s throat in the middle of the night, he’d kept eye contact the whole time. He’d seen the fear, the panic, the anger and denial, and he’d let his victim see him, too, the excitement of the hunt, the worry that he was going to be caught, the rush that went through him at the kill, and even the guilt that he was taking a life. The connection between the two of them had been amazing, profane and profound, and with the body still warm, he’d known that he’d wanted to do it again. He’d needed to do it again.

He’d been shaking by the time he’d let the body drop to the ground, and he’d fumbled the knife, his hands covered in blood, so much fucking blood. He’d started crying at some point, when he didn’t know, maybe when he’d slid the knife in, or maybe when his victim had taken his last breath, but what did it matter really, and he’d had to use the back of his wrist to wipe at his nose, snot and blood smearing across the cuff of his five thousand dollar suit. 

He remembered thinking his drycleaner was going to be so annoyed about the stain.

The thought had made him laugh so hard at the time that he’d stumbled and nearly sliced a chunk out of his leg.

Nearly a year later, Tony couldn’t remember each of their faces, not after so many deaths. But this one . . . oh, there was something special about him.

“Shhh,” he whispered, stroking blond hair away from his face, leaving behind streaks of vivid, gleaming red. He’d put up such a fight, even though Tony had taken him completely by surprise. And while Tony had won in the end, it had been more luck than skill, the fallen leaves and recent rain making everything slippery. As it was, he was going to have to get medical treatment for the cut on his chest, and something told him he’d carry the scar for the rest of his life.

He stared down into blue eyes made brilliant by shock and horror, and he thought maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Just like with all the other deaths, the feeling of connection between the two of them was there, but it was magnified somehow with this guy. Like they were linked together. Like it was meant to be. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, even as the body in his arms starting to convulse. “I’ve got you.”

He was glorious. Even now, he was still trying to push Tony away. No matter how many people Tony killed, he knew that he was never going to forget him.

For a moment, he was almost regretful that he’d chosen him for his latest victim, that this would be all they’d ever have together. But then again, who was to say that he would ever have met him in the real world? That even if they _had_ managed to find each other, that it would've lasted beyond a few months?

Better that they should share this, Tony realized, a moment frozen in time, pure and perfect.

“You . . .” the man whispered.

“I’ve got you,” he said again, calming his thrashing, and watched the last light fade from his eyes. 

Beautiful.


	4. It Should Be Easier Than This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But what it boils down to is that there is a teenage version of himself from an alternate reality running around, and he spends about eighty percent of his time hitting on Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts “Clones/doppelgangers/AU versions” (Cap_Ironman Bingo) and “kids or babies” (Avengers_Tables).
> 
> Warnings: Underage pining, although nothing sexual happens; angst
> 
> Word count: 530 (I know, it's so short! It's amazing! They were all supposed to be this short...)

It makes him feel incredibly guilty, but Steve just doesn’t like him.

Even if it _is_ him.

Just not . . . him.

It’s all very confusing.

But what it boils down to is that there is a teenage version of himself from an alternate reality running around, and he spends about eighty percent of his time hitting on Tony.

 _His_ Tony.

Well, not _his_ Tony per se—they’re not dating or anything—but it’s _his reality’s_ Tony, so it’s basically the same thing.

The other Steve Rogers, however, is different. His mother had been hit by some type of alien ray on the way to the hospital to give birth, so he’s had all his abilities from the moment he was born. Super strength, faster healing, the only big difference it seems between the two of them is that he can fly. Which means he spends a lot of time in the air with Tony.

 _Steve_ used to spend a lot of time in the air with Tony, though admittedly, it was with Tony carrying him, which was . . . which was nice actually, but SHIELD doesn't want the two of them to interact too much—better to be safe than sorry—so Steve's busy doing missions with the rest of the team while Tony keeps his other self company. They don’t want the younger Steve out in public or doing anything that'll draw attention, but they don't want to make him more agitated than he already is by keeping him isolated either. He’s been through enough of a traumatic experience already, and if he feels comforted by hanging around with Tony—never mind that he _undresses Tony with his eyes_ every time he looks at him and that Tony is over _twenty years_ older than he is—then the team can humor him until they figure out a way to get him back to his own universe.

It can’t happen fast enough as far as Steve’s concerned. Which is horrible, he knows. He _feels_ horrible. He’s a horrible, _horrible_ person. He can't believe he's being so uncharitable as to jealous of—no, not jealous, he’s not—he’s—

He stares glumly at the far end of the room where Tony is showing the other Steve something, their heads bent over one of Tony’s numerous gadgets, their sides pressed together. 

He’s gotten used to this body, being able to run without breaking a sweat, ducking whenever he walks under a low doorway, holding onto cups and pens and what-have-you with a soft and careful grip, it’s all second nature to him now. 

But he _remembers_ what it was like before, and there’s a part of him that just can’t believe that someone like Tony—handsome, funny, _brilliant_ Tony—would ever look twice at him. Inside, he’s still that scrawny kid from Brooklyn who never won a fight or stole a single kiss, and okay, yes, he’s jealous. Because _that_ Steve never had to deal with being a sickly, ninety pound weakling and flirts with Tony as easily as breathing, while _this_ Steve sits on the sidelines and wishes like anything that Tony would pay half as much attention to him.


	5. I Will For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Floral, Steve? _Floral_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have committed fluff. There’s no excuse for this. *hangs head in shame*
> 
> For the prompts “shopping for curtains” (Avengers_Tables) and “kink: rushed sex” (Cap_Ironman Bingo).
> 
> Word count: 1,050

“What do you think of this one?”

Tony frowned, bouncing lightly on the cushion. “Too hard. You know I like taking naps on the couch, and there's no way I'll be able to fall asleep on this. And the fabric’s scratchy, too. It’s like you don’t want me to be rested, Steve,” he accused.

“Well, you could always try sleeping on the bed for a change,” he said, shaking his head. “Shocking, I know, but most people seem to like it.”

“It stifles my creative spirit. Next!”

Steve sighed, but he followed Tony as he surveyed the other offerings in the store.

“What about that—”

“You can’t be serious. That’s just ugly.”

“Well, what about—”

“Floral, Steve? _Floral_?”

“It’s not so bad,” Steve muttered defensively, but yeah, okay, it really was. 

When Tony had asked him to move in with him, he’d been so happy. It was a big step, and they’d only known each other for three months, but it felt _right_ with Tony, had from the very beginning. They were so good together, and he’d wanted that commitment, wanted to be able to say he was going home to Tony, to _their_ home, and know that Tony would say the same. But the more shopping they did, the more he started wondering if maybe they were taking things too fast. 

“What about that one?” he asked, pointing to a piece that he knew Tony wouldn’t like, but there were only three couches left that Tony hadn’t insulted, and by golly, they were walking out of the store with a couch if he had to sit on Tony until he picked the one he disliked the least.

“Are you kidding me?” Tony moved closer until he could whisper in Steve’s ear. “That looks like it’d fall apart the first time you tried to fuck me over the back of it. We need something . . . sturdier.”

Steve swallowed. Maybe Tony was right. There was nothing wrong with being selective after all.

Three hours later though, they’d gone through six stores without purchasing even a measly decorative item, and Steve’s patience was reaching its limit.

“What about these curtains?” he asked grimly, wondering what Tony would say about them, too thin, too thick, too frilly, they didn’t fall aesthetically enough, what, what could possibly be wrong about them?

“I don’t like the pattern,” Tony said dismissively. “It makes me look fat.”

And that was it. He was done. He was _so_ done.

He grabbed Tony’s wrist, dragging him into the bathroom that was one aisle down.

“Look,” he said, shutting the stall door closed and glaring at a mutinous Tony. “If you didn’t want me to move in with you, why did you even ask—”

“If I didn’t—you think I—what are you even talking about?”

“What else am I supposed to think, Tony?” he demanded, folding his arms across his chest as if that would keep the hurt pinned inside. “The whole point of today was to find furniture _together_ that we’d then put in the home where we lived _together_ , because we wanted to be _together_. But you keep rejecting everything, and you could’ve just _told_ me that you’d changed your mind about moving in with me instead of going through this—”

“That couch,” Tony said, hitting the wall, “that stupid, cheap Ikea couch you own is the first place we ever had sex! Every time I go over to your apartment, I sit on that couch, and you come over and force me to cuddle, and there’s that dip in the middle from the number of times we’ve fucked on it, and it’s old and uncomfortable, but I always fall asleep on it, and maybe I don’t want to throw that damn couch out, Steve! Maybe I want to keep it, alright? And those curtains you were looking at? The ones that look like they’re straight out of some damn issue of _Better Homes and Gardens_? Maybe I like the ten dollar ones we had to buy when your neighbor across the street nearly had a heart attack seeing us making breakfast naked! Maybe I like having those reminders of our—”

Steve yanked him close, twisting his fingers into his hair and kissing him until he couldn't breathe properly, until all he could taste and touch and feel was Tony, and it was fitting that he'd taken over his senses, the same way he'd taken over everything else in Steve's life. Had he really thought he'd be okay if Tony hadn't wanted to be with him? Had he really thought that'd be possible?

But no matter how caught up he was in Tony’s kisses, reality eventually reasserted itself when he jammed his elbow against the stall a few too many times.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he said, his hand down Tony’s pants. “There were only two other couples in the store. They’ll notice we’re missing—”

“No way,” Tony said, shimmying the rest of the way out of his clothes and making Steve lose his train of thought. “We’re in the back corner of the building. They won’t start looking for us for at least another five minutes. Plenty of time.”

Fifteen minutes later, they stood outside the front doors, flushed and still sticky with sweat, and Steve moaned, covering his face with his hand, "I can't believe we got kicked out!"

Tony laughed. "Think of it as just one more first time that we got to experience together. Besides, they didn’t really kick us out, just suggested that if we were finished shopping that we should enjoy the beautiful day outside.” 

“I’m sorry you had to spend so much money,” Steve said, referring to all the furniture Tony had purchased in order to soothe the manager’s anger. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony said, shrugging. The movement made Steve realize to his horror that Tony’s buttons didn’t match up to the right holes. How had he missed that? No wonder she’d kept staring at Tony’s chest. “It’s an investment anyway. We’re going to be breaking a lot more couches and tables and beds in the years to come,” he said, reaching out to hold Steve’s hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “Might as well be prepared.”


	6. You're Purrfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What just happened?” Steve asks as he stares at the black kitten sitting in the spot where Tony used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me, being silly and trying to get back into the writing Avengers mood. :) For the “magical transformation” square of avengers_tables and the “cute fluffy animals” square of cap_ironman bingo. Cheesy title is cheesy.
> 
> Word count: 794

“What just happened?” Steve asks as he stares at the black kitten sitting in the spot where Tony used to be, the armor lying in pieces around it. SHIELD agents are running around, shouting about where Loki just disappeared to, but he has more important things to worry about.

“It seems my brother is attempting to distract us from searching for him,” Thor says, looking oddly sheepish. “Be not troubled, friend Steve. Loki’s transformation spells were always for mischief and not harm, and they never lasted longer than the time it took the sun to travel across the sky.”

“This isn’t permanent? Tony will change back by tonight?” he asks, crouching down and tentatively reaching one hand out.

“Of course, that was on Asgard. I believe it is equal to four of your Earth days.”

“ _What_?”

Tony chooses that moment to pounce and ferociously attack Thor’s cape.

\-----

Tony as a kitten is surprisingly adorable.

He likes to go around demanding affection from all the Avengers, winding between his chosen victim’s feet, tripping them if necessary and even nipping at their ankles until they pick him up and start petting him. Then he purrs loudly and smugly, flexing his claws in warning if they seem like they’re getting ready to stop giving him the attention he deserves. 

Steve is his apparent favorite. Tony can spend hours on his lap, purring all the while and hissing at anyone who gets too close. Steve tries to lecture Tony on the importance of sharing, but it doesn’t seem to take. Tony just stares at him, unblinking, and then flops on his back, meowing for cuddles. Steve would like to say he resists Tony’s blatant manipulation, but truthfully, he folds each and every time, rubbing Tony’s belly and possibly cooing at him and saying embarrassing things like, “Who’s a sweet boy? You are; yes, you are!” 

He can’t help the fact that he thinks Tony is unbearably cute.

Steve doesn’t know if that’s a step up or a step down from his normal state of finding Tony attractive, but it’s not like he has a say in the matter either way. Tony has a habit of getting under a person’s skin and then making himself at home, and Steve is not immune.

At least with cat-Tony, Steve doesn’t have to worry about not touching him, and he doesn’t know who enjoys their petting sessions more. It’s just really relaxing stroking Tony. He’s soft and affectionate, and Steve kind of wants to keep him, although obviously, he wants regular Tony back more.

“I miss the real you,” he tells cat-Tony quietly, and cat-Tony butts his head against Steve’s fingers in reply.

\-----

“Who keeps turning on the television for you?” Steve asks as he walks into the common room and sees Tony sitting in front of the huge screen, jumping and batting at the moving objects. There’s no one else in the room besides the two of them. “Sitting this close to the television can’t be good for you. And what if it falls down? You’d be squished,” he says and turns it off. 

Tony yowls and jumps down, heading toward the book case.

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve says and picks him up. One of Tony’s favorite games is to jump onto unsuspecting people’s heads as they pass by, and Clint has threatened to dropkick him if he does it one more time. Steve doesn’t think he’d actually go through with it but better to be safe than sorry. “What am I going to do with you?” he sighs as he rubs under Tony’s chin. 

Tony just purrs.

\-----

It’s nearly a week before Tony turns back to normal. Darn it, Thor.

Steve goes to sleep with cat-Tony asleep on the pillow next to him, and he wakes with a very naked, very affectionate human-Tony on his chest, licking up Steve’s neck and making rumbly sounds in the back of his throat.

“Tony?” he gasps and realizes he’s got his arms wrapped around Tony. He lets go in a hurry and tries to shift away, but that’s when he realizes he’s _very_ happy to see Tony, and okay, there’s no way he’s going to hide that. Of course, Tony isn’t trying to hide that he’s happy to see Steve either, but it’s the principle of the matter.

“Did you know that you talk about me a lot?” Tony asks, biting down briefly and making Steve jerk. “Seriously, a _lot_.”

“D-do I?” he asks and somehow his arms have gone around Tony _again_ without him even noticing.

“I like it,” Tony says, lifting his head up enough to grin down at Steve. 

“I like _you_ ,” Steve says helplessly and Tony grins even wider.

“I know. I like you, too.”


	7. I am not there, I do not sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My . . . my car broke down about two miles east of town,” the man said, oddly tentative even though his eyes were running all over Tony like he didn’t know where to look first but couldn’t bear to miss any of it. “The sheriff said I should come here, that you can fix just about anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my “mind control” (cap_ironmang bingo) and “not really dead” (avengers_tables) squares. Title from the poem “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep” by Mary Elizabeth Frye.
> 
> This has been sitting on my computer for like a year, and I realized I'm never going to write more, so why not post it as short fic? Yay, short fic!
> 
> Word count: 1,144

Tony looked up when the door opened, the little bell hanging from the handle jangling cheerfully, making him sigh. Clara claimed the door needed a bell so she could know when people came in even if she was in the back room; he was just as insistent that it didn’t, especially since more often than not, whoever came in announced themselves with a “Hey, Clara!” anyway. For each one he took down, however, Clara put another one up, and it’d somehow become a contest of wills between the two of them. Of course, the fact that a bell had just announced a new customer even though he hadn’t seen Clara by the door all day indicated that—at least for the moment—he seemed to be losing. Damn it.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his eyebrows rising as he took in the view. Tall, blond, handsome in that clean-cut, boy-next-door type of way with enough muscle to make the button-down shirt he was wearing stretch appealingly across his chest, why it had to be Tony’s lucky day.

“My . . . my car broke down about two miles east of town,” the man said, oddly tentative even though his eyes were running all over Tony like he didn’t know where to look first but couldn’t bear to miss any of it. “The sheriff said I should come here, that you can fix just about anything.”

Now, Tony got his share of appreciative looks all the time, and he liked nothing more than to flirt a little to break up the tedium of the day, but there was something about this guy that was making him tense up and not in the good way; something . . . _off_. “We do alright,” he said, his voice brusque. 

“Well, I would really appreciate it if you could take a look,” the stranger said, and he smiled. 

Damn. Off or not, he had a good smile, wide and adorable like a basket full of puppies, and it made Tony want to clutch at his chest just a little bit. 

“My name’s Steve by the way,” the guy said, sticking his hand out, palm tilted up slightly instead of to the side, like he was expecting Tony to give him something, or like he was asking for something from him. And he wasn’t looking at him all funny anymore, but he was still _looking_ at him, all bright baby blues and sincere smile, and if Tony had thought that having him look into his eyes would be better than having him stare everywhere else, then he’d been wrong. 

He hesitated for a second before replying, “Tony,” and slapped his hand into Steve’s, giving it a quick shake. Tony’s fingers spasmed in Steve’s grip for no good reason, and Tony jerked back, curling his hand into a fist that he hid beneath the counter.

“Welcome to Jackson, Steve!” he said to cover his reaction, which no matter his gift for gab, he wouldn’t have been able to explain for the life of him. “I’m guessing you’ve already seen most of the sights, but in case you haven’t, don’t blink as you’re walking down Main, otherwise you’ll miss all that the town has to offer. There’s a diner about four blocks south of here that I’d personally recommend if you’re in the mood for burnt coffee and excellent chocolate cake. It’s nothing fancy, and do _not_ order the meatloaf under any condition, but you should be safe with just about anything else. It’s the best place to wait while I tow your car in, and I’ll come get you after I’ve taken a look.”

“I was actually hoping I could ride out with you—”

“No can do, I’m afraid. The passenger-side seat belt isn’t working, and I’m waiting for parts,” he said, not even feeling bad for lying, because the last thing he needed was to sit next to Mr. Cute But Creepy for any length of time.

“Oh. Well, could I just wait here then?”

“Sorry, company rules, can’t leave customers unattended. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your car. I haven’t damaged a car loading it or unloading since my first week here. Maybe second.”

“Really? How long have you been working here?” Steve asked as he passed over his keys, a level of interest in his voice that went beyond curiosity, even factoring Tony’s joke.

“Almost two years now,” he said, even though it’d been closer to six months. He pasted on a smile. “But I’ve worked on cars my whole life.”

“So you’re not a native to the city?”

“No, I have a bit of a wandering streak. What about you, Steve? Where are you headed to?” he asked, holding the keys up, flashing the Hertz logo back at him. 

“I’m visiting a friend of mine up in Rathburn,” Steve said, mentioning the town two hours north. “A mutual friend of ours died a little over a year ago,” he said, his voice rough, his gaze disturbingly _hungry_ as he stared at Tony, “and Nick’s been after me to stop moping and come by for months now, so I thought I’d finally do it. Look where it got me though.”

“Yeah,” Tony said slowly, wondering what the hell was up with the guy. “You gotta make sure you get a car that can handle all these mountains.” He could feel his eye start twitching, and fuck, he hoped one of his headaches wasn’t coming on.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked as a sudden flare of pain made Tony wince, his hand going to his temple. Looked like today wasn’t his lucky day after all.

“What? Yeah, no, it’s fine. I just . . . migraines,” he said, because that was easier to say than explaining that he got headaches sometimes that came and went for no reason, sometimes weak, sometimes strong enough to knock him out, and they refused to respond to any drug, even the prescription-strength ones Doc had given him.

“Migraines? Have you always had those?”

Tony’s eyes were closed, but he could hear the change in Steve’s voice, hear the sudden and inexplicable interest. There was something _wrong_ with this guy, and Tony had the strongest urge to get away, to leave as fast as his truck could take him, no matter if it meant abandoning all his things and running off without even saying goodbye to the people who’d taken care of him when he’d stumbled into town, alone and penniless.

“For a while now, yeah.” He forced himself to straighten and ignore the pain. “This one’s not that bad though, although it might take me a little longer to get back than I’d initially thought. Two miles east of town? I’ll get the truck,” he said and started figuring out the route he should take in order to get away.


	8. Take Another Little Piece of My Heart Now, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think we should get married,” Tony announced as he let himself into Steve’s apartment, plopping next to him on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts “marriage proposals” (cap_ironman bingo) and "pretending to be a couple" (avengers_tables). Just another one of those fics that have been sitting around for forever and won't ever be finished. Apparently I have a lot more of these than I thought.
> 
> Title from the song “Piece of My Heart” sung by Janis Joplin.
> 
> Word count: 2,669

“I think we should get married,” Tony announced as he let himself into Steve’s apartment, plopping next to him on the couch.

“And why would we do that?” Steve asked, only pausing long enough for the springs to settle before he resumed sketching.

“Because we’re madly in love!” 

Hmm. He tilted his head. Was there something wrong with the hands? The perspective seemed off.

“Because we’re in like?”

Maybe it was the shadowing. A little too much on top and not enough—

“Because I will pay you tons and tons of money?”

Steve sighed, lowering his pad. “Tony—”

“Come on, Steve, come on,” Tony whined, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder and looking up at him pitifully. “Can’t you do this teeny tiny favor for me?”

“I’m not marrying you,” he said, ignoring the way his heart twinged in protest, because he’d been half in love with Tony for almost a year now, and he would never have dreamed he’d be saying those words right now. _Oh, stop_ , he thought at it, annoyed and wistful. _He’s not serious, and you’re being ridiculous_.

“Why not?” Tony asked, looking baffled.

“ _Why not_?” He lightly smacked Tony on the head with his sketchpad and stood up, taking a few steps before turning around to face him. He normally enjoyed Tony’s lack of respect for personal boundaries—too much sometimes—but at that moment, he needed some distance between them. “There are so many reasons why I won’t marry you, Tony, _so many_.”

“Name one!”

“How about we’re not even dating!”

“See, there’s a remedy for that! Steve, will you go out on a really long date with me that starts with dinner and ends in front of a judge—”

“I can’t believe you,” he said, even though this was Tony, so actually he could. “What is this about, Tony? Really.”

Tony’s face scrunched up. “I may have told my parents that I got married,” he mumbled.

“ _What_?”

“You don’t know my parents, Steve,” Tony said darkly. “It’s always something with them. ‘What do you mean it’s going to take you two years to graduate college and three to get your doctorate? You want to start your own company? Why would you do that when you could take over after your father? You’re only bringing in ten million a year; how do you survive? Do you have to wear sunglasses all the time? You look like a drug dealer.’” He sniffed. “As if I could ever look anything other than amazing. Seriously, it never ends with them. When they started hinting about the marriage thing, I thought—I just wanted to get them off my back, you know?” 

“But . . . but what does that have to do with me?” he asked plaintively while thinking, _Ten million a year? Holy crap._

“It has everything to do with you, Steve. Dear Steve. Dear, sweet, _helpful_ Steve.”

“No. _No_ , Tony. Why not Pepper? Or Natasha? Wouldn’t it make more sense to ask one of them?” 

“Oh, I told my parents years ago that I was gay. Had to head them off at the pass about the whole grandkid thing. Stroke of genius if I do say so myself.” 

He opened his mouth to say something, but . . . he really didn’t know how to respond to that. It made so much Tony-sense that Steve couldn’t even berate him.

“I’m not marrying you,” he repeated instead, trying to infuse the words with as much conviction as possible.

“That’s okay,” Tony said, still looking hopefully at him. “I don’t think they believed me when I said I eloped and got married by Elvis anyway. What if we just say we’re engaged?”

“And I don’t want to lie to your parents!” he said, scandalized, and glared at the way Tony’s lips turned up. 

“Alright, what about just boyfriends then?” Tony said, giving in so easily that Steve had the irritating certainty that that had been exactly what Tony had been hoping for all along. “That’s not really lying. We’re friends. And we’re boys. Well, men. Manly men even. So manfriends then. Except manfriends sounds a little raunchy, but maybe that’s just me.”

He rubbed his face with his free hand. “Are your parents coming to town or something?”

“No, it’s my dad’s sixtieth birthday. They’re throwing a big party, everyone’s invited, and as the only child, I’m expected to show up. We’d fly out tomorrow, be back the day after that. If you agreed,” he added, and Steve knew, just _knew_ that Tony had already purchased the tickets for the both of them.

“Come on, Steve, you’ll love it,” Tony said, the wheedling full force in his voice. “My parents are staying in LA for the winter, and it’s beautiful out there. No black snow on the ground or people resembling the Michelin Man because of all the layers they’re wearing. Just gorgeous beaches and gorgeous people with tons of food and a tub in your bathroom so big, you could swim in it. I’ll even fly you first class. You’ll be in the lap of luxury the whole time.”

Rather than admitting the only gorgeous person or view he wanted was the one right in front of him, Steve said, “Tony, you know I don’t care about that sort of thing.”

“You’re right, I do know, and seriously, what is wrong with you? How are we even friends?”

Steve smiled reluctantly, because Tony always made him smile, even when he was driving him crazy.

“Why can’t you ask someone else? Clint, I bet, would love to have an all-expense-paid weekend in—”

Tony waved his hand dismissively. “Are you kidding? Me and Clint? Alone? For a whole weekend? We’d kill each other. Besides, my parents would never buy it.”

“But they’d believe you and I were together?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t know if they’d do that either, but they’d certainly hope,” Tony said, laughing. “Come on, Steve, you’re like a mother’s wet dream, polite, handsome, sincere. Any girl—or guy—would be lucky to take you home to the family.” 

Steve tried to resist, he did, tried to ignore Tony’s hangdog expression and harden his resolve, but it was pointless. He’d known he was going to go along with whatever Tony wanted as soon as he’d barged into his apartment.

“What about Rhodey?” he asked in a last-ditch effort to save his sanity.

“They’ve known Rhodey for years. They know he knows better.”

“Or, or Bruce? Or Thor—yeah, okay, not Thor.”

“C’mon, Steve. When do I ever ask you for anything?”

He glared.

“You’re right, wrong tactic. Please,” he said, brown eyes large and soulful, and jeez, why couldn’t he say no to him? “It would mean a lot to me.”

“This is such a bad idea,” he said, shoulders slumping.

“Great!” Tony sprang to his feet. “You won’t regret this, Steve, you’ll see!”

“I _already_ regret it,” he muttered.

“I’ll text you with the details for tomorrow,” Tony said, already heading for the door. While Steve would’ve liked to think Tony hadn’t heard him, it was more likely that he’d chosen to ignore him since he’d already gotten his way. “Don’t worry about taking anything nice. I’ve got it covered. Thank you, Steve, love, darling, light o’ my life!”

“Tony—”

“See you tomorrow!” he called, slamming the door behind him and leaving Steve’s apartment that much dimmer in his absence.

“I guess I’m going to LA,” Steve said to the empty room after a long moment and went to go pack.

\-----

Steve was standing outside his door at seven in the morning when Tony—scratch that, when Tony’s driver came by. He said good morning to Happy and peered into the backseat where Tony was sprawled, nursing a huge cup of coffee, sunglasses firmly in place.

“Did you sleep at all?” Steve asked, voice heavy with resignation. 

“Sleep is for wimps,” Tony said, handing Steve a blueberry muffin and a cup of chai tea and simultaneously avoiding the question. 

“If by wimps you mean normal, sane people, then yes, you’re right.”

“Who wants to be normal?” Tony asked, taking a large drink of what Steve knew was not his first coffee of the morning. He shuddered to think how much caffeine was flowing through his bloodstream.

“You should take a nap; otherwise you’ll scare your parents when you land. You know how you get when you’re tired.”

“Pffft, you think they aren’t used to this by now? Where do you think I got it from in the first place?”

“Oh no,” Steve said, dawning horror plain in his voice. “Are there _three_ of you?”

Tony started snickering, which wasn’t encouraging at all actually. “Don’t worry, Steve, we’re only going to be there one night. I’ll protect you from those big, scary workaholics. Ooh, speaking of which, you know they’re going to want to grill you.”

“Don’t remind me. I don’t know how you convinced me—”

“It’s not going to be that bad! I’ll be there, too, and I’ll field all the difficult questions. Just . . . be yourself. It’ll be fine. And, um, don’t flinch or anything when I kiss you. Okay, so that’s it then,” Tony said, leaning forward to put his cup into a holder

“Tony,” Steve said, dragging him back by his collar. “What do you mean when you kiss me?”

“It’s not a big deal, just a few smooches here and there. You won’t even notice.”

“ _How am I supposed to not notice when you’re kissing me_?” he asked, his voice coming out strained even to his own ears, because seriously. _Seriously_.

“Hey! Don’t make it sound like such a hardship! I’ll have you know I’m a very good kisser!”

The last thing—the very _last_ thing—Steve needed to think about was Tony and his mouth and how good he was with it.

“As a matter of fact, I can tie two cherry stems into knots _at the same time_ , so—”

Thankfully, Happy chose that moment to lower the privacy window, because who knew what Steve would’ve said to that.

“The pilot just called. They’re expecting an hour’s delay because of the weather. You want me to stop somewhere, or would you prefer to keep going?”

“Mmm, let’s just keep going. The chef said he’d make those cream puffs Steve likes so much, so we can munch on those while we’re waiting. And before you ask, Happy, don’t worry, I told him to pack an extra box for you.”

“Oooh, cream puffs,” Steve heard as the screen went back up, the car picking up speed.

“Wait, pilot? Chef?”

“Uh, didn’t I mention?” Tony asked, eyes going all shifty. “We’re taking my personal jet.”

“ _Tony,_ ” Steve groaned.

“I told you I’d fly you first class—”

“There’s first class, Tony, and then there’s having a whole airplane to ourselves!”

Tony folded his arms, his expression indicating Steve was ruining his fun. Not that Steve cared.

“I don’t want you spending money on me—”

“I’m not spending it on _you_! I’m spending it on _me_! You just happen to be coming along for the ride.”

“Tony,” he began, rubbing his face.

“Look, it’s just a preference thing, alright? I like my own space. I like following my own rules. I’m not the type of person who takes ‘you are now free to move around in the cabin’ and ‘turn off all cellular and portable devices’ well. Do I seem like that type of person? Because if you think I am, we really need to reconsider whether we can pull this off.”

“Fine, alright, fine,” Steve sighed. “I get it. I’ll stop complaining.”

“Thank you.” Tony drummed his fingers against his knee. “In the interest of full disclosure, I should also probably warn you about the stripper poles. Don’t worry though, I’ve told them no in-flight entertainment is needed today.”

“Tony,” he began in an appalled tone of voice. “You don’t have—”

“No, no, no, there’s no actual stripping!” Tony said, holding his hands up. “They just dance! I dance, too! We all dance. Together! As a matter of fact, if the mood hits you, I could have them play something especially for you—”

“I am not going to dance on the plane!”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” Tony said, adjusting his sunglasses and avoiding Steve’s gaze. He eventually pulled out his phone and started tapping away at it, leaving Steve to entertain himself.

Try as he might though, Steve couldn’t stop himself from eventually asking, “Stripper poles? Really?”

“Would you believe I was very drunk?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Good, let’s go with that then.”

\----- 

Tony did finally end up sleeping when they were an hour into the flight, slumping down in his chair even though he’d told Steve the seats reclined to a completely horizontal position. Steve tried to focus on the book he’d brought, but it wasn’t long before he was turning his seat toward him and watching, taking it all in.

There’d always been something about Tony that got to him. The first time they’d met had been at Pepper’s birthday party, Tony stumbling in as most people were getting ready to leave. Steve had thought he’d been drunk from the way he was acting and had pulled him aside, telling him off for being rude and obnoxious on Pepper’s special day. 

Tony, it had turned out, had been caught up in one of his fits of genius, going without sleep for almost seventy-two hours and not realizing what day it was until the third time JARVIS had reminded him he was late. He’d gotten two tickets for speeding on his way over and almost gotten another one for annoying the second officer so much. He’d also been the one paying for Pepper’s party as one of his many gifts to her. It hadn’t excused him, but it’d been enough to make Steve feel guilty when he found out, and the next time they’d run in to each other, he’d approached Tony to clear the air.

One and a half years later, they had the keys to each other’s homes, saw each other two to three times a week, and texted who knew how many times a day.

It should’ve been enough for him, having Tony depend on him, getting all those little bits and pieces of Tony that no one else ever got to see. And in many ways it was, because Steve valued their friendship so much, he would never have done anything to jeopardize it. 

Not even telling the person he was in love with that he had feelings for him. 

He didn’t know when he’d started wanting Tony. When he thought about it, which he did more frequently than he’d like, he couldn’t pinpoint a time or an occasion that had cemented it for him, hadn’t even realized what was happening until it’d been too late. Maybe if he had, he could’ve guarded against it, spent less time with Tony, protected his heart better, done _something_ to keep it from happening, because in all the time Steve had known Tony and seen him hit on pretty much anything that moved, Tony had never once indicated he thought of Steve as anything other than a friend.

Steve had never been the type of guy to give up on something, even when it was a hopeless case. So he took these stolen moments and savored them, even if they resembled something like torture, and he let himself get talked into doing one crazy stunt after another simply because Tony asked him to. Because he always wanted to be the one Tony turned to, be the reason Tony lit up with happiness, and Steve couldn’t even bring himself to care that his heart ached that much more every time it happened. Even a little bit was better than nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is a horrible place to end it, I know.
> 
> I'm a terrible person.
> 
> ETA: This is now a full fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/803454).


	9. A Little Bit of Vanilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are one kinky motherfucker,” Steve hears dimly as he opens his eyes, and he groans, immediately shutting them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts “woke up married” (avengers_tables) and “Kink: Sex involving food” (cap_ironman bingo). Sigh, I never do these prompts the way I’m supposed to.
> 
> Warnings: Morning after a drunken binge, waking up naked with someone you don’t know, references to getting drunk by imbibing alcohol from an orifice that is not the mouth
> 
> Word count: 1,268

“You are one kinky motherfucker,” Steve hears dimly as he opens his eyes, and he groans, immediately shutting them again. His whole body aches, muscles throbbing, his throat devastatingly dry and somehow . . . furry . . . or something. He feels _horrible_. He tries to remember what he’d done yesterday to end up this way, but all he gets are vague flashes of laughing and bright lights and strong arms holding him up, and that’s not helpful at all. Had something happened? A mission gone wrong maybe? Is he dying? 

He might welcome death right now actually.

“Maybe kinky is too mild a word,” says an unbearably cheerful voice, and Steve tilts his head toward the sound, whimpering when that sends fiery lances of pain through his brain. 

Steve should be extremely concerned that he’s waking up next to a man whose voice he doesn’t recognize. The guy doesn’t _sound_ like he’s harboring any diabolic plans, however, and Steve’s brain is hazily reassuring him he would never have gone to sleep in the company of someone _bad_ , and truthfully, that’s good enough for him right now. He doesn’t want to think anymore. He just wants to smother himself in his pillow and demand sympathy. Possibly a head rub.

“Debauched, maybe. _Depraved_ ,” the guy says, sounding particularly delighted, impressed even, and wait, _what_ is he saying?

“Excuse me?” Steve croaks, because that is not something people generally say to describe him. This time, he manages to pry his eyes open and keep them that way. His first thought is that it is excruciatingly bright and he would give half his yearly salary for a pair of sunglasses. His second thought is “goatee.” His third thought is that there was an incredibly attractive man in bed with him. An incredibly attractive, _naked_ man, the edge of the sheet clinging to his lap in a way that should frankly be illegal. Steve’s fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth thoughts are pretty much variations of the word “naked” over and over again.

“When you told me you wanted to get drunk, I didn’t realize how determined you were, but wow. When you go for something, you really go for it, don’t you?” the guy asks, brown eyes crinkling as he smiles, and Steve realizes to his dismay that the reason he’s feeling so poorly is that he’s suffering from the worst hangover he’s ever experienced. Apparently, he had somehow gotten drunk last night. He hadn’t known that was possible.

He also hadn’t known that he could develop an erection when he was in this much pain, but the man is _very_ naked and it _almost_ makes up for the fact that Steve had been forced to open his eyes—

Wait.

If the other guy is naked, and Steve’s in bed with him, does that mean . . . ?

Why yes. Yes, it does.

Thankfully, he’s lying on his stomach, so at least he doesn’t have to reveal his inappropriate (appropriate?) reaction. Considering the draft he can feel from the air conditioner, however, and especially _where_ he can feel it, it seems that he’s revealing a lot of other things instead.

“Who are you?” Steve asks, wriggling around to pull his end of the sheet up, and _oh_. He is very, very sore in places he hasn’t been this sore in since he lost his virginity. Either they were _very_ vigorous, or his partner is supremely well-endowed.

Not that he’s curious, of course.

Okay, maybe a _little_ curious.

Apparently he easily distracted when he’s hungover. 

“How quickly they forget!” the guy says, placing the back on his hand on his forehead. “No worries, though. You had enough alcohol to knock out an elephant. Tony Stark at your service, oh-husband-of-mine.”

“ _What_?” Steve gasps, twisting on his side and wincing in the process, and Tony starts to laugh.

“Just kidding. I turned you down. Twice. Sorry, but I don’t marry drunk people I just met, no matter how hot and kinky they are or how many times I had to defend my virtue from your advances. I know,” Tony says, shrugging, “I obviously have the wrong priorities in life, but what can you do? I was just here to offer advice and moral support and an extra pair of hands.”

“What?” Steve says again, and he might actually be more confused now than he’d been a second ago. He _proposed_? More than once? 

“I told you that you wanted to get drunk,” Tony says, smiling. “I was just the lucky guy sitting next to you in the bar. You, my friend, can drink tons of alcohol. Seriously, _so much alcohol_. I was put to shame. And yet you still weren’t getting drunk, which was making you depressed and causing you to drink _more_ , so I jokingly told you about this thing I’d heard that could work. Then you wanted to try it out, though, which, color me surprised, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“What?” Steve says, and oh jeez, he sounds like a broken record. 

“See, this is where the kinkiness comes in,” Tony says, smiling even wider. “You _demanded_ I take you upstairs and said if I wasn’t going to do it, you’d find someone who would. What could I do? It was my duty as a good citizen to make sure you didn’t go off with some wackjob and get hurt. You _had_ to get undressed in order to accomplish your objective, and I decided to do the same in the spirit of camaraderie and because I like being naked. It’s fun, and I am not ashamed.”

Steve can’t help taking a quick peek at Tony’s body since they’re talking about it, and although he can’t see everything, from what he can tell, Tony has nothing to be ashamed about. 

“Showers were mandatory by the end anyway; we both smelled like a distillery, and I accidentally knocked over a full bottle, so there was alcohol everywhere. And yes, it was together, but that’s just because I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t fall and break your head or something. Although for future reference, you’re all hands when you’re drunk. Not normally attractive in a person, although, you know, _you_ ,” he says, gesturing at Steve, “so I’ll forgive you this one time. After that, you serenaded me with music from the forties, ordered two of everything off the dine-in menu, and then eventually passed out on the bed while we were watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island. And voila, it’s a party a second in Las Vegas!”

Steve kind of wants to ask if they had sex, but it sounds like they didn’t, and he thinks he might come off more hopeful than he should all things considered, so he refrains. Tony seems interested, though, so maybe later they could . . . although Steve _is_ very sore . . . 

He shifts slightly, his cock rubbing against the mattress, the ache inside his body going all the way up his spine. Of course, that just might make it better . . .

Steve blinks and tries to organize his thoughts. Tony obviously isn’t telling him everything—like why Steve proposed of all things—not that Steve would mind getting to know Tony better—c’mon, Steve, get it together!

“Okay, but then how _did_ I get drunk? And why am I so . . . uncomfortable?” 

Tony grins from ear to ear and tells him.

Well. That at least explains why he asked Tony to marry him, Steve thinks, flushing so hotly that his face feels like it’s going to explode.


	10. Hold It In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Too much?” Tony asked solicitously, and Steve shook his head, even though he couldn’t decide if it was the truth or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "Pregnancy kink" square of my cap_ironman bingo card. 
> 
> WARNING: Enemas
> 
> Word count: 590
> 
> I don't know why writing about enemas was easier for me than writing mpreg, but there you go.

“Too much?” Tony asked solicitously, and Steve shook his head, even though he couldn’t decide if it was the truth or not. He felt a little lightheaded and shivery, sweat starting to bead on his skin, and the pressure felt tremendous. 

The expression on Tony’s face made it all worth it, however, pride and arousal and reverence, and Steve resolved to hold it in as long as possible. 

“You look amazing like this,” Tony said, his hand caressing over Steve’s enlarged belly, and Steve twitched, sucking in a breath as his muscles tensed involuntarily. He couldn’t stop the groan that escaped as the pressure seemed to increase tenfold.

“Fuck,” Tony breathed, swallowing hard. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it harder on you,” he said, and while Steve knew it was true, he noticed how Tony’s eyes were riveted to Steve’s stomach, could see precum welling at the tip of Tony’s cock. 

“It’s alright,” he said, because it was. He knew how much Tony needed to touch him when they did this, and besides, it helped to feel the warmth of Tony’s hands to keep him grounded. Still, this was the most water they’d ever attempted, and Steve needed a minute to get used to it. Or to get as used to it as he could, all things considered.

“Can I have the . . . ?” He trailed off, but Tony understood, wrenching his eyes away.

“Of course! I should’ve asked; I just got . . . distracted.” Tony grabbed the retention plug, gaze sweeping over Steve’s profile one last time before he moved behind him. “Okay, I’m taking out the nozzle now,” he warned before putting action to words. 

Steve closed his eyes, resting his head on his forearm and then trying to keep as still as possible. He gave a sigh of relief as Tony worked the plug into him, grateful for the extra security.

Tony helped Steve roll on his left side, his insides churning, little shivers starting to run through his body by the time he was finally situated to Tony’s satisfaction.

“Look at you,” Tony said, his hands once again reaching out to Steve’s stomach as if he couldn’t help himself, his touch tender and worshipful. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this, Steve.”

Steve shuddered, moaning as one of Tony’s hands started stroking Steve’s cock, the other hand resting gently on his abdomen. It had surprised him how much he enjoyed this the first time they’d done it, the pleasure so intense that it was almost painful, the shame lost in the sensations that Tony elicited from him. Now, though, he looked forward to their sessions as much if not more than Tony, even if a part of him still wished he could give Tony what he really wanted.

“Gorgeous,” Tony crooned. “I wish I could keep you like this forever, round and sweet. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Steve?” he asked, his hand picking up speed on Steve’s cock, his other hand moving to his nipples, pinching and rolling one and then the other as Steve whimpered. “These would get full and swollen; you’d be so sensitive. I’d take such good care of you, Steve. I swear I would.”

“I know,” Steve gasped, his body trembling as it sought some kind of release from the tension ratcheting almost unbearably inside of it. Any kind of release. “I know you would,” he tried to say, but it was lost as he cried out in orgasm, Tony’s hands all that kept him together.


	11. C'mon, Baby, Light My Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve heard that getting naked and cuddling in a sleeping bag together is a great way to stay warm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts “Sharing body heat” (cap_ironman bingo) and “huddling for warmth” (avengers_tables).
> 
> Word count: 518
> 
> Title from The Doors' "Light My Fire".

“I’ve heard that getting naked and cuddling in a sleeping bag together is a great way to stay warm.”

Steve didn’t bother looking up from gathering firewood. It was not, sadly enough, the most outrageous thing Tony had ever said to him.

“I’m pretty sure that just lying in your sleeping bag— _alone_ —will keep you warm enough.”

“Are you sure? Because I wouldn’t want to do anything that hasn’t been backed up with thorough testing.” He could just feel Tony’s earnest gaze on him. “It’s my life we’re talking about here. I’m rather attached to it.”

“It’s my life, too.”

“Yes, but I’m prettier than you are,” Tony said, and Steve glanced up in time to see him bat his eyelashes. “It would be a crime against nature if I were to pass away right now. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for allowing such a horrible travesty to occur, now would you, Steve?”

“Considering it shouldn’t get much colder than fifty degrees tonight, and you have a sleeping bag that’s rated for below freezing conditions, I don’t think I’m too worried.”

“I’m hurt, Steve, truly and deeply hurt that you would entrust my life into the hands of men that we know nothing about.” Tony shook his head sadly. “Just because the tag _says_ it can handle subzero temperatures doesn’t mean the sleeping bag can actually _do_ it, and do we really believe the weatherman? I mean, is meteorology even a science? Maybe we should—”

“Tony,” Steve said, just his name, but Tony finally fell silent at the impatience in Steve’s voice, even though Steve hadn’t meant to reveal anything at all. 

He knew that for Tony, flirting was like breathing, something done unthinkingly but necessary for survival. He’d seen Tony flirt with people he’d just met, people he’d known since childhood, people he didn’t even particularly _like_. It was just the way Tony was. 

Steve, on the other hand, was horrible at flirting. He didn’t believe in fake smiles, in acting coy, in being nice to someone with the sole purpose of eventually having sex. He acted interested because he _was_ interested, asked questions because he wanted to know the answers. He didn’t flirt unless he meant it. And even if he _did_ mean it, Steve didn’t flirt with someone who only flirted with him out of habit _._

No matter how much he wanted to.

Or how much it bothered him to see Tony flirt with someone else.

It bothered him almost as much as seeing the blank expression on Tony’s face as Tony closed down and knowing he’d been the one to put it there. It was the reason he said, “If it turns out that you’re _that_ cold, maybe we can . . .”

He didn't quite know how to finish that sentence, but Tony saw it for the victory it was and smiled widely before finally helping to set up the camp in relative silence—for Tony anyway—willing to be good now that he knew he’d get what he wanted later.

If only Steve didn’t want it so much as well.


	12. Me for You and You for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t that Tony was trying to _hide_ the fact that he had somehow developed telepathy overnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts "Telepathy" (avengers_tables) and "New superpowers" (cap_ironman bingo).
> 
> Word count: 606

It wasn’t that Tony was trying to _hide_ the fact that he had somehow developed telepathy overnight. It was just that until he could figure out what the hell was going on, it seemed important to keep the information on more of the need-to-know basis. It wasn’t _his_ fault that no one currently needed to know. 

Tony was handling it just fine after all. He wasn’t suffering: no headaches, no barrages of painful and disorienting thoughts. It was just like any other day. Except that when he was within two feet of someone, he could hear everything he or she was thinking. Same old, same old, really.

He’d promised himself that if it didn’t go away or if he couldn’t figure anything out within a week, he’d tell Fury. But that still gave him four more days.

“Tony—”

“A little busy right now, Steve,” Tony said as he walked briskly past the counter where Steve was sitting, eating lunch. He was careful to steer a wide berth around Steve’s seat so there was no danger of hearing anything he didn’t want to hear, although he did catch a glimpse of Steve’s half-eaten sandwich, making Tony’s stomach growl. He hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, let alone lunch. Or dinner from yesterday, come to think of it. Or lunch from yesterday for that matter. No wonder he was starving.

“If you have a second, I was—”

“No can do right now. Big project, deadline, clock’s ticking and all that. Just going to grab something and head back to my lab.”

“Oh. Sure,” Steve said, and Tony glanced over at the odd tone in his voice, but Steve wasn’t looking at him, was staring down at his plate. 

_He always has an excuse. I should stop asking. It’s obvious he’s not interested.  
_  
What? He looked back from the contents of the refrigerator, and yup, Steve was sitting about three yards away, completely out of Tony’ range. There was no way he could’ve heard him. And yet . . .

 _I wish he would just give me a chance.  
_  
Tony blinked. A chance to do what? It was true that Steve had been making various offers to do something together in recent weeks, but he’d been doing that with all the Avengers. While Tony appreciated Steve’s need to establish ties between their members in order to form a more cohesive unit, blah, blah, blah, Tony wasn’t much for group retreats and singing “Kumbaya” around the campfire, and he didn’t know why his refusals would make Steve sound so resigned.  
 _  
I wish . . .  
_  
Their eyes met for just a second before Steve looked down and didn’t look up again.

Tony could’ve entered the Guinness Book of World Records under the Longest Amount of Time Taken to Make a Sandwich if that had been an entry as he waited for Steve to think something else at him. But there was nothing.

Steve hadn’t meant anything. Had he? Because it had sounded like . . .

Tony had a hard time believing that Steve had been carrying around some secret torch for him, no matter how wistful his thoughts had been. Nevertheless, for some reason he couldn’t put it entirely out of his mind.

“My afternoon is free tomorrow, if you don’t mind waiting,” Tony said right before he walked out the kitchen door, his plate held high and close to his chest. 

Steve’s head snapped around to look at him. “That’d be great,” Steve said smiling, surprised and hopeful, and Tony didn’t need his newfound telepathy to tell how happy Steve was at that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the spammage, guys. Just try to get all these prompts finished. Just 7 more to go. *dies*


	13. We Will Not Falter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve could swear that he heard Tony’s voice, but that made no sense. Tony hadn’t been in the ice with him; he hadn’t even known Tony existed then. He’d been alone, forgotten and unnecessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts “Alien invasion” (cap_ironman bingo) and “phobias” (avengers_tables). Title from Muse's "Uprising."
> 
> Word count: 566

_Steve! Steve! C’mon, snap out of it!_

Steve could swear that he heard Tony’s voice, but that made no sense. Tony hadn’t been in the ice with him, hadn’t even known Tony existed then. He’d been alone, forgotten and unnecessary. 

_Steve, fuck! You’re shivering, and your lips are taking on this blue-ish tinge that clashes with your costume. If I’ve taught you nothing else, it should be how to color-coordinate by now. Wake UP!_

Steve clung to the voice as much as he could, knowing that it’d just be a matter of time before it disappeared. He’d do anything— _give_ anything—to be able to keep at least that with him in the darkness and the cold. 

Not again. Please, not again. Anything but this.

But even as he prayed the words, he could the voice— _Tony’s_ voice; he couldn’t let himself forget—starting to fade, drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat, the steady, rhythmic, _hated_ proof that he was alive and would continue to be until they found him again. Assuming anyone ever did.

_Steve! Fuck! What did those bastards do to you? Steve!_

How many years would’ve passed by then? How many graves would he have to visit? How many lives would he have missed out on? 

_Okay, you are seriously freaking me out here. If you don’t open your eyes in the next ten seconds, I’m performing CPR; see if I don’t!_

Would Tony still be around? 

He moaned, unable to contain the pain at the thought that Tony would be gone by the time Steve was dragged out of the ice again.

_Was that a—? Did you just make a sound, big guy? Shit, if I’d known threatening to kiss you would get a reaction, I’d have done it a lot sooner. Do it again! C’mon, Steve, work with me here!_

He’d never told Tony how he felt about him. And now it was too late.

_No, no, no, no! Don’t go back to the silent and comatose act! I really will kiss you! Hell, I’ll even cop a feel or two if you’re not careful!_

Tony.

He felt the softest of pressure against his lips, and then he was gasping, desperate for air, Tony’s face hovering inches above his. 

“Steve!”

“Tony?” he coughed, shaking and unable to stop. He couldn’t get control of his limbs, couldn’t get them to move or turn, but Tony was holding him, holding him and not letting go.

“It’s okay; you’re okay,” Tony said, bringing Steve’s face to the shelter of his chest. “You were—but it’s okay now. I’ve got you, I’ve—”

Steve could barely feel anything, but he could feel the way Tony’s fingers dug into his skin, painful and reassuring.

“You’re going to be just fine,” Tony whispered, rocking him.

“What happened?” Steve asked at last when the tremors had quieted and he couldn’t justify allowing himself to take comfort in Tony’s embrace any longer.

“We were under attack,” Tony said, no longer rocking him but still not drawing away. “Loki and a new damn army. They managed to capture the two of us and took you away. When you came back, you were—”

This time it was Steve pulling Tony closer. 

“We’ll find a way out of here,” he promised. 

“Yeah, I know we will,” Tony said, although neither of them moved for a long time.


	14. Wait for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a dark and stormy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts "It was a dark and stormy night..." (avengers_tables) and "Writing format: docments" (cap_ironman bingo). I actually wasn't quite certain what the prompt Writing Format: Documents meant, so I just winged it. Hope this counts. >_>
> 
> Warnings: Supernatural-ish AU
> 
> Word count: 1,073

It was a dark and stormy night. Or at least it would be, once the storm arrived. Steve had already gathered candles and a flashlight in preparation for any potential power outages. He loved thunderstorms, had ever since he was a kid, and he’d exchange a few hours without power to be able to enjoy a thunderstorm each and every time. 

He sat outside on the balcony in order to be as close to the storm as possible without actually being in it. It was mostly covered, and as long as he kept his chair angled close the wall, he shouldn’t get wet. He brought along a copy of _Moby Dick_ that he’d purchased from a used book store earlier that week to keep him company. He’d always meant to read the classic, but for whatever reason, never had, and when he’d seen the battered copy on the shelf for fifty cents, he’d picked it up without hesitation.

Steve was so caught up in the story that when the first crack of thunder sounded, he startled, almost losing his place. Seconds later, the lights went out, and he huffed, putting his book down carefully on the patio table and standing up in order to get his flashlight. It ‘d be a waste of batteries, but it wasn’t like thunderstorms came through every day. 

He spent a few minutes reveling in the storm when he came back out, so it took him a while to realize the wind had blown his book to the ground.

“Oh crap,” he said, reaching down to pick it up, hoping it hadn’t fallen into a wet patch. It hadn’t, but apparently the fall had knocked one of the pages loose so that it poked up above the rest. 

He opened the book, wondering if he could tape it back in, and it was only then that he noticed that it wasn’t actually a page at all, the paper folded into fourths. It looked like someone had wedged it into the crease and then forgotten about it. 

Feeling oddly nervous, Steve unfolded the paper.

_My dearest friend,_  
  
 _It saddens me greatly to think of our last meeting where I conducted myself so inexcusably. After months at sea with only my memories to try and alleviate the pain your absence causes me, I at last cry surrender. It was wrong of me to put my father’s wishes before our hopes and plans. Can you find it within your heart to forgive me?_  
  
 _I explained myself poorly the night I left your home with such abruptness. Looking back, I can only recall failure after failure on my part in my attempt to make you understand my thoughts. It was not shame concerning our friendship that drove me to undertake this latest venture. I will always consider the greatest achievement of my ne’er-do-well existence to be having earned your affection. It was that I hoped to gain a measure of independence from my family so you would never again be exposed to their disdain._  
  
 _I know they have remarked on your lack of station, as if the worth of a man can only be valued in his family name and fortune! You bear with their sly comments with a strength and grace of spirit that I could never hope to copy, but I cannot bear their cruel attitude towards you. If was because of this that I agreed to oversee my father’s cargo, so that I could have the money to at last be independent of them._  
  
 _Or so I thought at the time. Now I see I was taking the coward’s way out, avoiding making a stand for what I believed in for fear of the potential consequences. My father will always find a reason to keep me shackled to his side if I were to allow it._  
  
 _I beg your forgiveness for not having the fortitude to do what was right. Please believe that I will not abuse the trust you have placed in me and make the same mistake again._  
  
 _By the time you receive this letter, my friend, I should be only a day or two behind. I have decided to entrust my father’s goods to another and to return forthwith. I hope you will allow me to call on you when I arrive and not simply slam the door in my face as I deserve._  
  
 _Your humble servant,_  
 _Anthony Stark_

Steve felt as if he was coming out of a daze as he finished the letter. He had the oddest sense of familiarity, as if he’d read these words before, time and time again. It made no sense, but he couldn’t shake the feeling, nor the creeping certainty that Anthony Stark had never made it back home, his ship lost at sea while his lover waited for him.

Lightning cracked the sky, and Steve blinked several times in order to clear his vision, imagining for a second that he could see a face filled with regret in the fading lines of light.

Someone knocked on his front door, and he shook his head to clear the image, banishing his odd thoughts. 

“Hey, sorry about this, but I’m in the process of moving across the hall, and I have no idea where they packed my flashlight,” the guy said as soon as Steve opened the door. “Do you mind if I borrow a candle or something?”

Steve stared at a face that he shouldn’t have recognized.

“Or not,” his neighbor said, raising an eyebrow at Steve’s continued silence.

“I’m sorry,” Steve apologized, his hand gripping his doorknob tightly. “I was just . . .” He trailed off, having no idea how to finish that sentence. “But yes, you can borrow a flashlight and some candles if you’d like. Or, or you could even just stay over here until the power kicks back on. I don’t mind,” Steve said, not wanting him to go. “I even have some left-over pizza if you’d like.”

“Oh. Well yeah. You sure you don’t mind?” the guy said, smiling. He was strikingly handsome.

“Not at all,” Steve said, stepping back to give him room to enter. “My name’s Steve Rogers by the way.”

“Tony Stark, at your service. Nice to meet you, Steve.”

“You, too, Tony,” Steve whispered, his throat dry. “You, too.”


	15. The Enemy of My Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s just my luck that I get handcuffed to the epitome of male perfection, and I am too drugged to do anything about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts "Near-death confessions" (cap_ironman bingo) and "relying on the enemy" (avengers_tables).
> 
> Warnings: AU where Steve and Tony are on different sides
> 
> Word count: 740

“It’s just my luck that I get handcuffed to the epitome of male perfection, and I am too drugged to do anything about it,” Tony said, with only the faintest trace of slurring. If Steve hadn’t seen their captors inject something into Tony’s arm, Steve wouldn’t have noticed even that.

“Thank you,” Steve said, knowing better than to hold Tony’s words against him. Not-drugged Tony didn’t think he was attractive. Not-drugged Tony didn’t like him at all as a matter of fact. Not-drugged Tony had nearly killed him once or twice.

Of course, he hadn’t known that fact until Tony had been unmasked right in front of him. Prior to discovering Tony was Iron Man, Steve had always had a bit of a crush on the other man and had made up ridiculous excuses in order to stop and chat with Tony whenever he came to SHIELD headquarters. 

Steve had hoped that Tony’s increasingly frequent visits meant that Tony had begun to feel the same way about him, but apparently, Tony’d had a much darker motive that had nothing to do with Steve.

Bucky was right. He had horrible taste in men.

Tony at least had looked just as surprised when they’d unmasked Steve, an expression of what Steve would’ve labeled panic passing over his face if it’d been anyone else. He wondered if he should take any comfort in knowing Tony hadn’t meant to kill _Steve_ but a faceless Captain America.

Not really, he decided.

He couldn’t worry about that right now, however. He had to get them out of wherever it was they were. And then turn Tony in.

“Wait, wait,” Tony said, stumbling and nearly taking the both of them down. “This way.” 

“How do you know?” he asked, eyeing the tunnel that looked exactly like the one they were currently traveling down.

“I downloaded the building’s plans while they were still trying to figure out how to get suit off and memorized them.” 

“The drugs—”

“The drugs make it hard to focus, but even at my worst, I can memorize a few floor plans. I know the way out.”

The _trust me_ was implied, but it wasn’t as if Steve had much choice.

He followed Tony’s—no, _Stark’s_ —directions. He had to remember that _Tony_ didn’t really exist, that it’d been a cover to hide Stark infiltrating SHIELD. No wonder Iron Man had been able to get around new SHIELD technology so quickly, had always been able to escape even when they’d had more men on the ground. Stark had _created_ most of that technology for them after all.

Although why none of their other enemies hadn’t been able to—

Actually, it made total sense. If all of Stark’s weapons and computer security had been easily circumnavigated, SHIELD wouldn’t have continued to hire him.

Steve kept waiting for the alarm to sound, but apparently, neither they nor the guards they’d taken down had been missed yet. Stark was able to keep them away from the main tunnels, and Steve took care of the few guards they did encounter, allowing him to arm himself in the process. 

Stark was in no condition to handle a weapon, the drugs making him sweat and babble, and Steve had to support him with one arm as Stark’s coordination deteriorated. He continued to tell Steve where to go, however, and Steve kept following his directions, putting his faith in Stark to get them out as quickly as possible. 

“Steve,” Stark wheezed, and Steve glanced down. He looked horrible, pale and drawn, his skin clammy. It was obvious that he needed immediate medical attention, but there was nothing Steve could do. “Left at the fork. Two rights. Access code is 598320.”

“Why are you—?”

“Key’s in my pocket,” Stark gasped, knees crumbling until the only thing keeping him upright was Steve’s desperate hold. “Pickpocketed the guard. Didn’t want you to leave me behind,” he explained weakly, as if Steve would’ve abandoned him even if they hadn’t been handcuffed together.

Although maybe he would have. Tony had nearly killed him after all. Twice.

It was a different story now though.

“I won’t,” Steve promised, clutching Tony a little closer. “I’ve got you, Tony. We’ll get out of here together.”

“You always were my favorite,” Tony gasped, his lips twitching into a small smile as he reached up and touched Steve’s face. Then Tony’s eyes closed, his hand falling away.

“Tony? _Tony_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone yells at me, Tony doesn't actually die.


	16. Marking His Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, Steve,” Tony said, smiling as he slid two fingers into him effortlessly. “You can take whatever I can dish out and more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts "coitus interruptus" (avengers_tables) and "kink: frottage" (cap_ironman bingo). I went with the literal definitions of coitus interruptus and frottage, which are “sexual intercourse in which the penis is withdrawn before ejaculation” and “…in which sexual arousal or orgasm is achieved by actual or fantasized rubbing up against another person” respectively. I seriously don’t know why I picked the Cliché table. I should’ve picked the Kink one instead. *headdesk*
> 
> Warnings: Bondage; some come play, I guess; begging; IDK, my usual porn stuff
> 
> Word count: 567

“Please, Tony, please,” Steve gasped, arching into Tony’s thrusts as best as he could with his wrists anchored to his ankles as they were. He should’ve known better than to agree with anything Tony requested when he had that glint in his eyes.

“Please what?” Tony panted, his hands tightening on Steve’s hips for a second right before he pulled out. They both groaned, although Steve couldn’t help but notice how more desperate he sounded in comparison.

But then, that was exactly how he felt, aching and empty and needing to be filled, like he couldn’t get enough of Tony’s cock, no matter how many times he had it in him. 

It didn’t help that Tony kept withdrawing just when orgasm seemed within reach, pleasure turning into frustration and edging into pain as each touch promised fulfillment—and then left him hanging on the precipice over and over again.

“Please,” Steve said, his voice coming out broken. He didn’t know how long they’d been having sex, but it felt like hours, like _days_ had passed since Tony had closed the restraints. “I can’t take anymore. Please. Now.”

He allowed his drawn-up knees to fall further apart, willing to offer every part of himself up to whatever Tony wanted to do to him if only it would involve release. 

“Oh, Steve,” Tony said, smiling as he slid two fingers into him effortlessly. “You can take whatever I can dish out and more.”

Steve cried out, trying to thrust down onto Tony’s fingers, but Tony refused to give him even that much relief, pulling them away and then rolling Steve’s knees up until they pressed against his shoulders.

“Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” Tony breathed, bowing his head so he could watch as he slid his cock against Steve’s exposed hole, over and over, but never entering. “I could come just from—” 

“No!” Steve said, trying to close his legs, almost panicked at the thought that Tony would leave him like this, wracked with desire and unable to do anything about it.

“I won’t, though; shh, I won’t,” Tony promised, leaning forward so they could kiss, grinding down with his hips so their cocks rubbed against each other, making Steve gasp and shudder.

“Tony,” he begged, because no matter how good it felt, he needed more. He would’ve thought that any touch would be enough to push him over, but after having been denied for so long, it was like his body was afraid the opportunity would be stolen away from him once again and refused to let go. 

“Shh,” Tony said again, pressing one last sweet kiss to Steve’s lips before he shifted back up. 

Steve shouted when Tony shoved into him, back bowing off the bed as Tony started a fast rhythm of deep, powerful thrusts. He was going to be so sore later, could already feel the ache growing and growing, but it didn’t matter when compared to the pleasure that tore through him, to the feeling of Tony taking what he wanted and giving Steve everything he needed in the process. 

His orgasm was so intense that he couldn’t stop shivering afterwards, hands limp at his sides and knees splayed. He watched with dazed eyes as Tony pulled out, stroking himself to completion and coming all over Steve’s already messy stomach, Tony’s hand reaching out to tenderly rub the come into his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written so fast. I apologize for the bad porn.


	17. If You Change Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t even think about it, Stark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the “Body swapping” square of my cap_ironman bingo card.
> 
> Word count: 653

“Don’t even think about it, Stark.”

Tony raised his hands, making sure Natasha saw that they were completely out of range of the fabulous breasts he was currently sporting. 

“You realize that you’ve taken away the one good thing that has come from this whole body-swapping fiasco, right?”

“Tony,” Thor—no, Steve—said in a disapproving tone of voice. 

Well, one of two good things, but Steve had nixed the first one in the bud already. Thor had even said it’d be okay, because who was he to keep shield mates apart, but _noooooo._ Steve was too concerned with things like decorum and respecting other people’s property—or bodies in this case—to engage in a little nookie while they were waiting to see if their situation was reversible. Seriously, it was amazing that the two of them had ever gotten together.

“What? I was just curious. It’s not like I was going to take Natasha’s body for a spin around the block or anything. I mean, if we’re pointing fingers here, she’s not exactly one to talk what with going to the bathroom and everything! And don’t tell me there wasn’t any inappropriate touching or looking,” he said, eyeing her, “because no one will believe you.”

She—well, Clint—shrugged. “It’s not anything I haven’t seen before,” she said, making Thor (Steve) blush and Steve (Clint) grin in a way that just looked weird on Steve’s face. 

“Ha! Bruce owes me five bucks!” Tony said triumphantly. Unfortunately, Bruce was in his lab, working with a team of SHIELD scientists to see how to fix them, but Tony would collect later. Bruce had been out of town, so he was the only one of them that hadn’t woken up in the wrong body that morning. SHIELD had subsequently flown him back in, but considering he’d spent years learning how to keep the Hulk under some semblance of control—knowledge that anyone suddenly dropping into his body would lack—Tony couldn’t be sorry about the time wasted in-transit.

Steve glared at him, but it just didn’t have the same effect on him when it was coming from Thor’s face. That probably wouldn’t last if Steve spent much more time in Thor’s body, but now that Tony knew Steve couldn’t guilt him into acting better with just a look, he planned to take advantage of it for as long as he could.

“We’ve figured out a cure!” Bruce said, rushing into the room. 

“Damn it,” Tony sighed. “Foiled again.”

\-----

“I’m me again!” Tony said, checking to make sure all his parts were in place. Being a woman had been disorienting to say the least, what with the different center of gravity, the change in height and voice, and the lack of dick. “Hallelujah!”

Steve rolled his eyes, but what did he know? He’d gone from being a tall, gorgeous, extremely fit man with short blond hair to a tall, gorgeous, extremely fit man with long blond hair. He couldn’t understand Tony’s pain.

“I think we should check to make sure all the plumbing’s still working,” Tony said after he’d dragged Steve back to his room. He waggled his eyebrows just to make sure Steve understood what he meant. 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Steve said flatly, and oh jeez, he was still annoyed with Tony trying to touch Natasha’s breasts. And possibly propositioning Thor’s body. Whatever, special circumstances! It wasn’t like this kind of stuff happened to them every day.

“You know, the only person I want is you,” Tony said, wanting to cringe at the sappiness and the utter truth behind the words. “The packaging aside, it was still you and me on the inside, and that was what mattered.”

Steve looked into his eyes for a long time before sighing. “What am I going to do with you, Tony?”

“I’ve got a couple of ideas,” Tony said and pulled him into his arms.


	18. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know," Tony said, staring at the handcuffs that tied them together, "you had me at hello, so this was really unnecessary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts “Handcuffed together” (cap_ironman bingo) and “you had me at hello” (avengers_tables).
> 
> Warnings: AU, first time Tony and Steve meet
> 
> Word count: 635

"You know," Tony said, staring at the handcuffs that tied them together, "you had me at hello, so this was really unnecessary. Not that I’m complaining. Who doesn’t like a little bondage in the bedroom? Normally, however—"

“Mr. Stark, I’ve been ordered by Director Fury to bring you in for a meeting,” the guy said, calm and apparently unflappable. He obviously didn’t know Tony that well. “The restraints are to ensure your cooperation and will be taken off when we reach Director Fury’s office.”

Wow. Okay, sure, Tony had been avoiding Fury for the past month, but he hadn’t known that was going to result in getting carted off to SHIELD headquarters in chains like some kind of prisoner. Of course, if he’d known who his detaining officer was going to be, he might have done it sooner. Tall, blond and gorgeous could rock a pair of fitted pants like no one’s business. 

“Oh really? What if I don’t want to go?” he asked out of curiosity, although he had no intention of really resisting. He’d only gotten to see it for a few seconds when he walked into the room, but man, he would follow that ass anywhere. “Are you planning to carry me out here?” 

“While I would hope to avoid that eventuality, I am prepared to carry out my orders using whatever means necessary.”

“Promises, promises,” Tony said, smiling, just to get a frown directed back at him. At this point in a conversation, Tony typically liked to sit down and leer happily at a person. The handcuff made sure he wasn’t going anywhere unless Mr. Serious and Studly went with him, however, and Tony was getting the impression that the guy wasn’t in the mood to sit down and chat, so it looked like standing would have to do. “What’s your name, soldier? I’m sure my assistant already told me, but I have a tendency to not pay attention whenever he talks if I can avoid it. Man, I miss Pepper.”

“Captain Steve Rogers,” he replied, all rigid lines and judgmental looks, and Tony was going to have so much fun with him. He felt almost giddy in anticipation.

“Well, Steve—I can call you Steve, right?”

“I would prefer—” 

“Well, Steve, there’s a reason I’m avoiding ole Nick, and no matter how much I enjoy these,” he said, shaking his hand so the chain connecting them jingled, “and let me tell you that I’m enjoying them _a lot_ —I don’t plan on changing my mind about talking to him. So where does that leave us exactly?”

Tony watched with interest as Steve hesitated. The thing about locking the two of them together was that it required some cooperation on Tony’s part unless Steve was planning to get rough, something Tony was betting he wasn’t willing to do. At least, not with someone who wasn’t posting a threat of any kind. Those muscles couldn’t all be for show after all.

“Director Fury simply wants to speak to you for a moment. If you would be so kind as to—”

“Nope.”

“You’re leaving me no choice but to—”

“Knock your socks off, but just be warned that I won’t go without a fight.”

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Trust me, I don’t want to be hurt either,” Tony said cheerfully.

Steve narrowed his eyes, and Tony grinned wider. 

A second later he was grunting as Steve bent down quickly and slung him over his shoulder. 

A second after that, he was grunting even louder as Steve dropped him onto the ground. 

_So worth it, though_ , Tony thought, his hand still tingling from where he’d gotten a good handful of Steve’s ass. Damn. Seriously. _Damn_.

“ _Mr. Stark_ —”

“I did warn you,” Tony said and smiled angelically.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who was anyone knew about Captain America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts “sex pollen” (cap_ironman bingo) and “mistaken identity” (avengers_tables).
> 
> Warnings: See prompts, AU
> 
> Word count: 1,744

Anyone who was anyone (or at the very least was a person who could hack into SHIELD’s servers through a backdoor he’d created the last time he’d been in headquarters, but whatever) knew about Captain America. How he’d been discovered in the arctic and revived, how SHIELD had been keeping him hidden from the world while he got acclimated to the future, how they’d been sending him out on simple solo missions to see how he’d do.

And Tony was all for getting him up to speed, making him feel comfortable, all that crap really, but he didn’t understand why that meant he couldn't see him. It was _Captain America_ , for fuck’s sake. He’d been waiting to meet Captain America his _whole fucking life_. Not that Fury seemed to care about that, oh no. Tony Stark was a loose cannon. Tony Stark couldn’t keep a secret ( _like the plans for Iron Man_ for example). Tony Stark had impulse problems, which okay, yeah, but this was different! Captain fucking America was two elevators, seven hallways, and fifteen doors away from him, and if he had to wait one more day, just one more, he’d go batshit insane, would pull a Bruce Banner on them, would—would—he didn’t know what he’d do, but it wouldn’t be pretty.

So it was for SHIELD’s sake that he was standing outside one Steve Roger’s door. Because Tony didn’t want to be the cause of so much destruction. He was doing them a favor really.

The whole thing had actually been a lot easier than he’d expected. Agents were scurrying around like their tails were on fire, so something big had to be going on. Lucky for him. 

Still. He glanced at his watch, estimating he had anywhere between twenty to thirty minutes before a very not-happy Fury himself came to kick him out. Tony would have to do something big to make amends in order to keep from being tasered and left in a puddle of drool on the sidewalk outside. He’d have to beef up SHIELD's firewalls for them, reveal how exactly he’d rigged all the cameras, maybe throw in a couple of million dollars’ worth of tech, who knew what, but it’d be so worth it.

He knocked and had to control his squeak of excitement when the door opened and Captain America— _Captain America_ —peered down at him.

“Hi!” he said, oozing innocence like a kid with sticky fingers in a candy store.

“Oh no,” Captain America groaned, and Tony didn’t think he’d ever get tired of saying his name in his head. Captain America. _Captain America_. _Captain AMERICA_. “I told him not to do it.”

“Do what?” he asked, looking his fill, because hello, the pictures hadn't done him justice. Tall, with muscles that begged for Tony’s tongue to lick across them, hair just right for pulling, thighs like tree trunks, and— _holy shit,_ someone was happy to see him.

“You. This,” Captain America said, waving his hand between them. Which made both of them look down. Which made Captain America realize what they were both looking down at. Which made him blush and move his crotch behind the door. Which made Tony want to cry a little.

“I told him I was okay. I could—I _can_ take care of it. Myself.”

“Well, it definitely looks like you need help taking care of something, soldier, and I am more than happy to volunteer my services,” he said, pushing into the room, because it looked like Captain America was trying to hide a missile in his shorts and not doing a very good of it at that.

“I don’t need any help,” Captain America protested, but he shuddered when Tony’s hand touched his chest, and when Tony closed the door, he didn’t seem to notice, staring at him with eyes that were glazing over.

“Right,” Tony said, licking his lips and watching Captain America follow the drag of his tongue, sweat beading on his forehead. “I totally believe you.”

Captain America blinked, giving himself a little shake. “You need to get out of here,” he said, turning around, and Tony gave a silent whistle, the back view was almost as good as the front. “I don’t know what Nick told you, but I’m not—I’m not safe right now.”

“No? And why would that be?” he asked, pulling his tie free in a hum of silk and admiring the way Captain America’s back tensed at the sound. 

It was obvious that he didn’t know who the hell Tony was, which was vaguely insulting, but nothing he couldn’t forgive considering the guy had been frozen for the past seventy years. Although he’d been awake for months, and one would think he’d know Tony’s face by now, what with all the magazine covers and news shows he’d been on recently, but whatever. 

It was equally obvious that Captain America was having some sort of problem in his pants, and Fury had wanted to send someone to relieve the issue, but Cap was against the idea for some reason. 

And upon reflection, it was _also_ obvious that that meant Captain America thought he was either a SHIELD agent _really_ dedicated to his job, or someone who was willing to _lend a hand_ as it were, which, wow, did that mean Captain America thought Tony was a high-class hooker? Because if so, Tony was _deeply_ offended. Like there was any way in hell SHIELD could’ve had enough money to afford him. Had the guy even _looked_ at his suit?

Captain America glanced at him over his shoulder. “I can’t talk about—are you—do you work for SHIELD?” he asked nervously.

“I’m a . . . consultant,” Tony said blandly, just to fuck with him at that point. 

“Oh,” he said, blushing furiously. “Of course.”

“But I have extremely high clearance,” Tony said, letting his jacket fall to the ground to join the tie. “How else could I have gotten to your room?” 

There was still a hint of skepticism on Captain America’s face, so Tony wasn’t surprised by his vague answer of, “There was an . . . accident. I’m having a . . . bad reaction to it.”

“I don’t know that I’d call it a bad thing myself,” Tony said, undoing a couple of buttons of his shirt but keeping the arc reactor hidden. He walked forward the few steps separating them, pleased when Captain America turned towards him. Tony kept his eyes on him as he reached out, slowly enough so that his intentions were clear. He could see Captain America’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, but he didn’t try to stop him as Tony rested his hand lightly on his cock. “Not bad at all. What’s your name, soldier?” he asked even though he already knew it. Still, while he wouldn’t mind saying “Captain America” in the middle of sex, maybe for their first time—first of many if he had anything to say about it—they should stick with the tried and true.

“Steve,” he gasped, his hands fisting at his sides, already teetering on the fine edge of control from something as simple as the warmth of Tony’s hand through his shorts, and _damn_ , he might have to give Fury even more tech to balance things out, because Tony would totally have paid money to do this.

“I’m Tony, Steve,” he said, grinding the heel of his hand against Steve’s cock.

Steve moaned, flinching back and grabbing Tony’s wrist, but rather than stopping him, he pressed Tony’s hand even harder against him, whimpering in the process.

“You alright there?” Tony asked, his voice breathy, because even though he’d been half hard since seeing him in the doorway, Steve’s reaction had catapulted him to completely erect and desperate to get naked in the span of about zero point seven seconds.

“I . . .” Steve let out an embarrassed huff, a shiver running all over him. He rested his head on Tony’s shoulder as he said, “I might have made myself sore from-from—” He took a deep breath. “From masturbating so much.”

“Don’t _say_ things like that,” Tony groaned, gripping Steve’s cock tightly just to hear him hiss, his fingers tightening around Tony’s wrist almost painfully. “Are you trying to make me to come before I get to see you naked?”

“Not my fault,” Steve protested, the words slurring together as he starting rocking into Tony’s fist, his breath hot and damp against Tony’s neck. “Harder, Tony?” he panted, making it a question. “Can you do it harder?”

“I can do it however you want me to, Steve,” he said, putting words to action and squeezing hard enough that Steve’s knees buckled, his fingers pressing bruises into Tony’s skin. “Is this too much for you?”

But Steve didn’t answer, not vocally anyway, although the shudder than ran through his body and the seeping dampness under Tony’s fingers was probably answer enough.

“Did that help at all?” he asked somewhat breathlessly, reminding himself that humping Captain America’s leg wasn’t the best way to make a good impression. Granted, that was under normal circumstances and didn’t necessarily qualify in a situation like theirs—

“No,” Steve groaned, hips spasming, thrusting into Tony’s grip, and Tony swallowed heavily, thinking about the wet drag of fabric against Steve’s cock, thinking about how much that kind of friction had to _hurt_ but still feel so, so good. 

“Do you want my mouth?” Tony asked, his voice gone low and gravelly, and he wanted Steve to say yes, could almost taste him on his tongue already. He rubbed his thumb over the head of Steve’s cock, eliciting another of those gorgeous sounds from Steve, and said, “I could lick all the come away and then take you into my throat, let you fuck my—”

“Tony, _Tony_ ,” Steve gasped, but then _he_ was the one falling to his knees, reaching for Tony’s belt, fingers almost useless in his desperation. Tony had to undo them for him, hands steadier, although it was all relative really, and then Steve was shoving Tony’s boxers down. The sound he made when he got Tony’s cock into his mouth was filled with such utter satisfaction that Tony looked down and wondered if he’d come again, and fuck, if that wasn’t one of the hottest things ever: Captain America gagging for Tony’s cock, coming from just the feel of it in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually planning to write more of this, but I ran out of time. I still might though. We'll see.
> 
> ETA: This is now a full fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1090543).


	20. Loved I Not Honor More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts “Writing format: documents” (cap_ironman bingo – last one didn’t count) and “in the future” (avengers_kink). Just one more prompt to go. Wow.
> 
> Warnings: Zombie apocalypse, story is written through letters, unbeta'd
> 
> Title from the poem "To Lucasta, Going to the Wars" by Richard Lovelace.
> 
> Word count: 837

_I could not love thee, dear, so much,_  
 _Loved I not honor more._

\-- Richard Lovelace

 

Dear Tony,

I am sitting here, writing this letter to you by candlelight, one small candle shared by the three of us in the tent with the light barely enough to see by, and it makes me think how annoying something like this must be for you. There are so many things we’ve lost since the First, but the lack of reliable electricity probably bothers you the most.

Are you still mad at me?

I can’t believe I just wrote that, but since crossing it out will make the words even more obvious and since I don’t have an eraser of any kind, I guess I’ll leave it there.

It’s been three weeks, and I miss you more and more every day.

Yours,  
Steve

\-----

Dear Tony,

Since I haven’t heard from you yet, I’m going to assume you are still angry. I didn’t want to leave. I don’t know if you believe me, but it wasn’t because I wanted to go. But what else could I do Tony? They need me out here. 

Life is different in the Compound. Do you remember the days right after the First? People running, screaming; people dying. I am trying to keep Them back, trying to keep you and everyone else in the Compound as safe as I can. Yes, it’s dangerous. We’ve lost a lot of good people here. But knowing that you’re back there, you and Bruce and everyone else who’s looking for a cure, it keeps me going. It gives me the strength to keep fighting so that we can have a better world and maybe get back to the way things were before. One day.

I wasn’t necessary at the Compound, Tony. There was nothing I could do except guard duty, and considering the outposts keep Them back, it just meant standing around, doing nothing. That’s not the type of person I am. I can’t stand back and let other people get hurt for me. Please understand.

I won’t apologize for volunteering, but I am sorry that I left you.

Love,  
Steve

\-----

Dear Tony,

We were attacked by a huge number of Them today. I wasn’t hurt. No scratches or bites. Yes, I’m sure. We look each other over pretty carefully after every fight, with the same level of meticulous care you used on me countless times before we reached the Compound if without the wandering hands.

I can’t tell you how much I miss your wandering hands.

I don’t know if you’ve written. We haven’t gotten any supplies from the Compound in over a week because of the rains. Have you guys figured out why changes in the weather affect Them so much? I’ve never seen them be so crazy before, or so mindless. I killed a few that had settled down to eat. They didn’t look up, even when I cut them down. 

I miss you, Tony. I miss you so much.

Steve

\-----

They finally told us today. I swear I didn’t know before, Tony, I swear. 

I don’t know why I’m even writing this letter since I know it won’t reach you until I put it in your hands myself, but it helps to talk to you like this since I can’t do it any other way. 

I have to believe that you and Bruce escaped. Even assuming you weren’t able to reach the suit, there’s no way Bruce would’ve been taken down by Them, and there’s even less chance that he’d leave without you. I have to believe this, because the alternative is unthinkable. I can’t picture a world without you in it. 

But I can’t stop thinking about all the reasons why you didn’t come here when the Compound fell. Are the two of you lost? Bruce is able to travel so far when he becomes the Hulk, and I remember him saying he almost never knows where he is when he wakes up. Is that the reason? Is one of you hurt? Not contaminated, not that, but injured maybe? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Are you being hunted?

There’s a huge part of me that wants to—needs to—go back to the Compound and look for you. I find myself looking to the south throughout the day, searching the skies for red and gold. The number of times I’ve considered abandoning the others . . .

But they need me here, Tony, and no matter how much I want to find you, Their numbers keep growing and growing. I can’t leave the others to this gruesome fight alone. 

I have so many things I need to apologize for, Tony: my anger and frustration, my stubbornness, my pride. For not being there when you needed me most. For not going to find you in order to bring you back to me. I hope that when we finally see each other again that you can somehow manage to forgive me. If not, I understand. I doubt that I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.

Yours, always and forever,  
Steve


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Say what?” Tony asked, sure that he hadn’t just heard what he thought he’d just heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the “Time travel” prompt of avengers_tables.
> 
> Warnings: Time travel, sketchy science, kidfic
> 
> Word count: 729

“Say what?” Tony asked, sure that he hadn’t just heard what he thought he’d just heard.

“I’m your son,” the kid in the weird futuristic armor who had suddenly appeared in his lab in a burst of blue light said again, and oh shit, Tony would recognize that expression that managed to convey annoyance, hurt and disdain anywhere. 

“Steve!” he yelled, because Steve was a nice guy, right? He liked kids and puppies and was liked in return. He’d know what to do. “ _Steve_!”

The kid rolled his eyes. “Do you _always_ have to call dad in for the lecture, Pops?” 

“ _What_?” Tony said, loud enough to make the kid wince, and fuck, he had to sit down.

\-----

“What do you _mean_ he’s biologically _ours_?” Tony demanded, wanting to reach out and shake Fury, although he wasn’t actually stupid enough to try. “That’s _impossible_. What kind of quack geneticists does SHIELD employ—?”

“We have some of the top geneticists in the country, and they’ve run the tests over and over again. Unless either one of you have a twin that you aren’t telling us about, he’s your and Rogers’ son.”

“Impossible,” he said again but found himself looking into the observation room where Steve and Joe (“My father’s name was Joseph,” Steve had said as he’d stared down at the kid. “Yeah, I _know_ ,” Joe had said, rolling his eyes. “Jeez, Dad.”) were talking. He'd been sitting in there with them until Fury had called him out.

Tony honestly didn’t know what to think. Him, with a teenaged son? By _Steve_ of all people? He and Steve weren’t even _dating_. He and Steve were just barely _talking_ civilly to each other. How the hell did the two of them have a kid together?

Unless someone had stolen their DNA and combined it in a lab with the intention of creating an evil super villain with Tony’s brains and Steve’s physique; now that he could see.

Although it didn’t explain why the kid referred to him as “Pops” and Steve as “Dad.”

Holy fuck, what was his _life_?

“Obviously not that impossible considering we have walking, talking proof to the contrary.”

Tony glared at Fury. “I have seven doctorates to my name, but if I had the time right now, I would get another one in Genetics just to—” 

“Tony?” Steve knocked on the one-way window. “Joe’s asking for you.”

\-----

“My time’s running out, Pops,” Joe said, standing in front of them and fidgeting with what looked to be a glorified watch on his wrist. It wasn’t. Or at least, that wasn’t all it could do. Tony—or at least, future Tony—had apparently made it for him, which yeah, Tony made all the best stuff. Apparently being the son of a multi-billionaire/superhero and another superhero was dangerous business, and future Tony had created a portable shield for him—an incredibly strong, _invisible_ , portable shield that was able to keep him safe from ninety-nine percent of hand-held weapons and emitted a strong electrical shock to anyone that tried to touch him when it was activated.

Joe was so used to everyone knowing about it that he hadn’t mentioned it until it was too late, but whatever, the SHIELD agent was going to be fine. 

“The time machine is set for two hours, and it’s going to take me back whether I’m ready or not.” Joe smiled, but there was something fragile about it. “I just wanted a chance to see you before . . .”

“Before what, Joe?” Steve asked when it became clear Joe wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Nothing.” Joe took a deep breath. “I’m glad this worked.”

“Wait,” Tony said, “do you mean you didn’t _know_ it was going to—”

Joe waved his hand dismissively. “I was _pretty_ sure. Our projects always turn out, Pops, but I had to finish it by myself since—” He shrugged, looking away.

“Joe . . .”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Joe said, looking like he was going to reach out and touch Steve. “Now that I know the time machine works, you can go back and save Pops—”

“What?” Steve asked, glancing at Tony with such an expression of shock and worry that Tony didn’t know what to think. When had he become important enough to Steve to deserve that look? “Something happens to Tony?”

There was no reply, just another flash of blue, and then nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last one, guys. Thank you so much for reading. It's been a blast.


	22. Scars of Your Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love leaves marks on all of us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm taking an indefinite break from writing Stony, have some fic I never finished. I've got like 2 or 3 more of these I'll post.
> 
> ETA: This is now a complete story. You can read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8735506).

The first time Steve fell in love it was with Heather Michaels who lived down the street. He took her to see _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_ but barely paid attention to the movie, wondering what she’d do if he put his arm around her shoulders and jumping every time his fingers got tangled with hers in the popcorn. On their third date, she gave him his first kiss, and he didn’t think life could get any better.

When her dad accepted a new job and she moved two months after they started dating, he was quiet for weeks and a long, red scar appeared down his side. It hurt a lot at first, pulsing red and angry, but eventually, it only bothered him when he touched it, memories of her smile and the way her lips had felt pressed against his flaring for brief seconds before fading away.

“Love leaves marks on all of us,” his mom said and explained how every time people’s hearts were broken, scars would form on their bodies. The more scars, the more you loved them. They’d gradually get smaller until they were only thin, white lines, and falling in love again would help speed the healing process along, but they’d never disappear completely. 

That was how he realized how he felt about Lisa, when Heather’s scar became so tiny, it was almost invisible. Lisa had the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. With her, he learned just how soft a woman’s body could be, and they stayed together until freshman year of college when distance finally tore them apart and left three vicious scars on his torso.

He always knew his relationship with Bucky was going to be temporary. Bucky was a year older and had already accepted a job in Spain with the company he’d interned with over the summer. He had dark brown eyes and tried to teach Steve Spanish when they weren’t studying or messing around. Even with the end in sight, Steve didn’t freak out when Lisa’s scars got smaller overnight it seemed. He wasn’t looking forward to the damage Bucky would leave when they broke up, but he wasn’t going to waste the time either, not when Bucky was right there, and Steve could see Bucky’s scars fading, too.

On the day Peggy moved out, Steve stood naked in front of the mirror and looked at all the ragged lines running over his chest, arms and legs. He felt like someone had taken a knife to him, slicing every inch of him open, and he didn’t understand how there wasn’t any blood. He traced one particularly thick scar that ran over his chest, gritting his teeth against the pain, and remembered the first time he’d brought Peggy over to meet his family and all the teasing that had accompanied it. He couldn’t imagine her scars ever disappearing, and in that moment, he didn’t want them to, didn’t want to ever expose himself to that much hurt again. Once in a lifetime was enough. 

\-----

When Tony invited all of them to his mansion for a party next to the pool and asked him if he swam, he rubbed his hand over his upper arm, feeling the changes in texture under his shirt, and gave him some weak excuse before walking away. He’d used to enjoy swimming before his body came to resemble a battlefield, but he was doing everyone a favor by keeping his clothes on. 

Enough time had passed that the scars weren’t so vivid anymore, but they still ached, sometimes more than others, and he hated the shocked sounds he heard whenever he got naked in front of others. It made people uncomfortable to see the evidence of so much pain, and he couldn’t blame them. He didn’t like looking at it either.

He envied Tony his lack of self-consciousness, his unblemished skin that suggested he’d never given his heart away and had it trampled on. It was the main reason he started sleeping with him. Tony knew how to protect his heart. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to fall in love with Steve, and Steve, well, he’d already learned his lesson.

He liked Tony though. Liked his biting humor, his confidence, the way he smiled and moved. Liked him maybe a little bit too much to be honest, but definitely not enough to get him in trouble. He checked. Every morning he’d wake up and force himself to stare in the mirror, would eye Peggy’s scars and made sure they were just as dark and long as they’d been the day before.

Tony had caught him at it one time when he’d come over and woken Steve up with a blow job. Steve had never let him spend the night or been willing to stay at his place, and Tony had been putting up a fight. He didn’t know if the blow job had been an apology for the argument the night before or if it’d been a sneaky way of trying to further his case, but Tony had seen him at the mirror afterwards, touching his scars as he got ready for the day, and Tony had never brought up the subject again, something that Steve could only be grateful for. 

The thing was that Tony was crazy and fun and threw himself into life like every day was a gift, and Steve needed that. He needed someone to take his mind off of how far he’d let himself fall, and Tony needed a keeper, so it all worked out in the end. And it didn’t hurt that the sex was good. Frequent orgasms went a long way in improving his overall disposition and in giving him the patience to put up with Tony’s brand of superhero-ing. They helped each other along, and even if it wasn’t perfect, well, nothing ever was, but it was safe, and that was more important anyway.

So of course that meant it all got messed up.

\-----

“You want to what?”

Steve rubbed his jaw, looking away from Tony. He didn’t have much experience at being the breakup-er versus the breakup-ee, had a tendency to hold on to people long after he should’ve let them go, and the blank expression on Tony’s face wasn’t helping. Like he didn’t know Tony’s tells by that point. Like he couldn’t figure out he was hurting him.

But Steve was doing him a favor, was doing the both of them one. Their . . . whatever it was they wanted to call it . . . wasn’t so far along that cutting things off would wreck the team. Yes, it’d be awkward for a while, but it was salvageable, and it wasn’t like Tony would have a hard time finding someone to take his place. 

He swallowed, pushing that thought away forcibly. It was fine. _He_ was fine, and the sooner they got this over with, the better.


	23. Not the One for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tended to avoid Omegas when he could.

Tony tended to avoid Omegas when he could. 

He didn’t have anything against them exactly—except for the four, no, five, that had managed to sneak into a public restroom, garage, Starbucks, hotel room and restaurant just before they were about to go into heat in the hopes of trapping him into a Bond—but he hated the assumption that just because he was an Alpha, that meant that he needed kids and a loving Omega to go home to. Like the best thing for him was to find his “ _better half_.” 

Uh huh. As if that were even possible.

Still, if he’d had a nickel for every time he’d heard someone say that an Omega would help him “settle down,” he’d have . . .

Who the hell knew? He already had a fucking ton of money—earned by himself and _for_ himself—and it’d be like throwing a cup of water into the ocean really. Whatever, that wasn’t important anyway.

What _was_ important was that he was a _man_ , a thinking, rational, _reasoning_ man, and he had no desire to be controlled by biology, to lose any and all coherent thought and be a slave to unpredictable heats where the most—the _only_ —thing that mattered was getting his knot jammed as far up someone as possible.

Not that the idea didn’t have its appeal. Like any red-blooded Alpha, he’d thought about what it’d be like to be tied to someone, to have him or her squirming on his knot while they both came over and over again, reeking of sex and pheromones and each other’s scent.

But while he had no problem indulging in most of his fantasies, he drew the line at knotting. 

He had a mind, thank you very much, a very _good_ mind as a matter of fact, and he had better things to do than put it on hibernation mode for nearly a week at a time. (That was what alcohol was for, and then at least, he got to pick and choose when he binged.) Never mind that the fucking itself normally only lasted three to four days. Everyone knew that Alphas regressed to Neanderthal levels right before and after their Omega went into heat, grunting and pounding their chests and ready to attack anyone that came close to their chosen mate during a fertile period.

Fucking useless.

Life would be so much easier if he were a Beta. Betas slipped under the radar without all the annoying preconceptions of what they were or what they were capable of. People left Betas the fuck alone without all the "it's your _duty_ to reproduce," or "shareholders don't like to see Alphas unmarried—too potentially volatile for the company," or _blah_ , blah, _blah_ , blah, blah, blah, blah.

Damn, he was getting a headache just thinking about it.

And while he knew that intellectually, it wasn't their fault—except for those five, of course, and they were lucky he’d just had them sent to the Heat Tank versus jail—Omegas were just bad news. 

Okay, okay, fine, not all Omegas were bad news. Happy was an Omega, after all, and Tony considered him family. But then, Happy was Bonded, which meant that like the vast majority of Bonded couples who were deliriously happy in a kind of creepy, plastic Barbie-and-Ken type of way and who always smiled at each other and looked blissfully content, he’d likely stay that way. Less than 1% of Bonded couples wanted a Breaking—each and every case highly publicized in the news, because something like that just wasn’t supposed to happen—and even with the endless specialists and hospital stays and various drug cocktails, some Bonds couldn’t be broken no matter how hard both parties tried.

Thus, Bonded Omegas were safe, because even Tony wasn’t vain enough to think a person would try to get out of a Bond just to be with him. Now, they might fantasize about him in order to add some excitement into their hum-drum love lives, but well, who could blame them?

Unbonded Omegas, on the other hand, were a different matter. He definitely didn’t want to be the focus of any of their fantasies, not when Omegas could go into heat at the drop of a hat. It was like puberty where a stray breeze could cause a boner, but one hundred times worse. 

Oh, alright, maybe not that bad, but stress could trigger a heat; too many Alpha pheromones could trigger a heat; not _enough_ Alpha pheromones could trigger a heat (and he totally didn't understand the evolutionary cause of that unless they were hoping suddenly going into heat would make an Alpha appear or something, but whatever, not his gig); too many Omegas in close quarters with each other could trigger a heat; the list went on and on. 

Omegas were _dangerous_ ; they were ticking hormonal time bombs, and Tony didn’t want to be anywhere in the detonation radius. 

Pepper kept telling him that one day when he was least expecting it, he’d turn around and wham! There’d be the Omega for him. And when they got married, she’d laugh and laugh and laugh.

Such a good friend, that one.

Until that fateful, _fateful_ day, however, Tony was going to stick with what worked and just avoid the motherfuckers for as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fandom needs more Omega!Steve is all I'm saying.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please, Steve?” he asks, and he’s not above busting out the puppy dog eyes, which he reserves for just these kinds of special occasions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! The move is done! I've been without internet for like a week now--the HORROR--and to celebrate being connected again, here, have some unfinished fic. :)

“Please, Steve?” he asks, and he’s not above busting out the puppy dog eyes, which he reserves for just these kinds of special occasions. Steve says he looks ridiculous, but it’s not like Tony hasn’t noticed the correlation between him employing the eyes of doom and Steve giving in to whatever he wants.

“No, Tony.” Except, apparently not this time.

“But why not?” And he’s not whining. Yet. He's still got a few tricks up his sleeve before he has to resort to the whining.

"It's . . . it's indecent, Tony," Steve says, and his face is so red that part of Tony worries he's going to give himself a headache. The larger part, however, is thinking, _oh, how cute_ , because Steve’s been dating _Tony_ of all people for a few months now, and he’s still hung up on things like propriety and shame.

“It’s only indecent if someone else sees it,” he tries to explain, but that just sets Steve off on a new tangent.

"And that’s another thing! I've heard about these,” he says darkly, because for all that he’s a _living legend_ , Steve gets weirdly fascinated by celebrities and can spend hours on IMDb. “How couples decide to make a—a sex tape, and then suddenly everyone in the world has seen them naked!"

“Well,” he begins in a completely rational way, “a lot of them get paid to take their clothes off—”

“But I don’t! And neither do you!”

“Um, actually,” he says, because there’d been that one time, but it’d been for charity so he hadn’t actually gotten paid. And he hadn’t been completely naked either. He’d been wearing a strategically placed Swedish model, which he’d rather enjoyed. 

“ _Neither do you_ ,” Steve repeats, glaring, and Tony puts up his hands, backing down. 

“Look, Steve—”

“I don’t understand why you would even want—”

"You're going to be gone for two months! _Two months_ ,” he says, getting angry all over again just thinking about it. Steve had told him the news one hour ago. And he was leaving tomorrow. “You've already said that we won't be able to talk much, maybe not at all! I just want something to be able to look at in the middle of the night when I’m alone." 

He clasps Steve's hand, and he knows he's already won when Steve doesn't stop him. 

"And before you say anything, yes, I have pictures and other videos of you, but it’s not the same, not even close. I realize that this is a purely selfish thing that I’m asking, but I don't care. Do you know how much I’m going to miss you? So much, Steve,” he says, his grip tightening, and Steve holds his hand back just as firmly. “I understand why you have to go, why it has to be you and not someone else, and I won’t argue with you about it— _or Fury,_ come on, don’t look at me like that! But I want . . .” He takes a deep breath. “I'm the only person who'll ever see it, who'll ever even know about it besides you. I won’t ever mention it to anyone else, and it won’t ever, _ever_ , get out to the public, I promise. I've kept the secrets to the Iron Man technology, haven't I? Please, Steve? Let me.”

There’s a long enough pause that Tony starts to wonder if he’d been wrong, if Steve really is going to deny him. If so, he decides, he’s never going to try the whole honesty as a means of persuasion thing again. 

But then Steve sighs and says, “Alright, Tony. But just this once. And I don’t want you to mention it to _me_ either,” he says wryly, the faintest hint of a blush rising back to his cheeks. “After today, I’m going to pretend it never happened.”

“Cross my heart,” he says and pulls Steve in for a quick kiss and hug. 

\-----

It’s not even thirty minutes later that he’s dragging Steve into the bedroom. No time like the present after all, especially since Steve’s leaving in about eighteen hours. And besides, the lighting’s good right now.

He’s got a little handheld camcorder, nothing fancy, although the image quality is the best money can buy. He could’ve gone more high-tech, gotten lights and cameras set up as well as sound equipment and all that and still had time to spare, but for this . . . for this, he likes the idea of having the camcorder in his hand, being able to direct it to wherever he wants and focus on each part of Steve as he touches him. He likes that it won’t be perfectly polished (although technically he supposes they’ve done several rehearsals by now so that part of it should be five stars), that there’ll be moments when they’ll laugh and maybe he’ll accidentally record a few seconds of the sheets or something because Steve has always had the power to distract him. Call him a romantic, but he wants more than just the sex. 

But he’s looking forward to the sex portion of it; he’s not going to lie.

“Smile, Steve,” he says pointing the camcorder at him as he walks out of the bathroom, still wet from a shower because he’d decided to sneak some twenty-five mile run or something awful like that while Tony’d been busy.

And there are many things that Tony likes about Steve, how passionate he is about everything, his sincerity, his body— _definitely_ his body—but one of the things he likes the most is his smile, honest and open, and the way it causes his heart to clench and makes him want to smile back.

He’s going to miss this.

But that’s for later. He refuses to get all maudlin before Steve has even left.

“Okay, now turn,” he orders, twirling his finger. “Nice,” he says, cheering up slightly since nearly-naked Steve always has that effect on him. “Now drop the towel. And add a little flourish. You don’t want me to get bored after the tenth viewing after all.” Like there’s any chance of that. As a matter of fact, he makes a mental note to backup the video and then backup the backup. Ad infinitum.

There’s a slight pause, like Steve’s debating with himself whether or not to actually do this, but then his shoulders loosen, and Tony captures the “whatever, fuck it” moment as Steve whips his towel off, bridging the distance between them with intent.

It’s obvious that he’s resolutely ignoring the camcorder, and Tony’s totally fine with that, prefers it in fact, because he doesn’t really want Steve to act any differently, doesn’t want to have to cajole and seduce a hesitant and blushing Steve every step of the way like he’s a virgin or something. Although. Yeah. There are . . . that’s kind of tempting actually.

But that’s not what today is for. Today is for making enough memories to tide him over for two months, so he sticks his arm out and points the camcorder in the direction of their faces, and he lets Steve kiss exactly him like he wants to, Steve’s hands cradling his head, his mouth pressing against his hard enough to hurt.

It’s easy to get lost in the kiss, in Steve’s strong hands and firm body, and he digs the fingers of his free hand into the damp skin of Steve’s hip, pulling him closer, as close as he could get. It’s too easy really, and he has to jerk his arm back up when he realizes it’s starting to dip.

They fall onto the bed, and Tony has to bat Steve’s hands away when he reaches for his clothes. Being naked would be fun and all, but he’s _busy_ , has things to do, Steve’s naked body to video, and it’s all about the priorities really.

“Tony,” Steve says, a hint of admonishment in his voice and the lightest of blushes tinting his cheeks. But he lies there, hands fidgeting as Tony watches him through the screen, and Tony feels such a rush of fondness for him that his chest aches.

He wonders sometimes what it is about Steve that attracts him so much. He’s not exactly Tony’s usual type after all. He’s a good man, but Tony’s met a lot—well, he’s met good men before. He’s handsome, but Tony’s slept with models and movie stars, and they’ve never moved him the way Steve does. 

Steve is—he’s in a class of his own, and Tony can’t even explain why, just knows it’s true.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're used to following orders, right?" Tony asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I was recently plagiarized. (Many, many thanks to Ella for bringing it to my attention) Same words except different fandom and different pairing. It's the second time that it's happened to me, and I still really don't know how to feel about it. I mean, it's kind of back-handed compliment, right? Although it's very annoying too. And I feel defensive about the fact that it didn't do as well in that other fandom--even though obviously the characterizations are different so it really _shouldn't_ do as well--but still. I am very conflicted. So here, have the beginning of some Steve/Tony bdsm fic. :)

"You're used to following orders, right?" Tony asks, tongue peeking out between his lips to catch a stray drop of water, and that isn't distracting at all.

"Sometimes," he says cautiously, because he's not sure where Tony's going with this, and he's learned by now not to blindly agree to anything Tony proposes. The one time with the watermelons and the golf clubs had been enough, thanks.

Tony's eyes gleam for a moment like he knows exactly what Steve's thinking, but then he's back to business. "Just sometimes, huh? Didn't the army teach you to be a good little soldier?"

"Well, there are occasions when you have to think outside the box," Steve begins, but Tony's already waving his hand.

"Sure, sure, I'm all for adjusting plans on the fly, but on a daily basis, routine things. A higher ranking officer says 'jump,' and you say 'how high,' right?"

"I . . . suppose," and yeah, that look on Tony's face can't mean anything good.

But all Tony says is, "Interesting," and he hums a little as he takes his drink and walks out the room.

\-----

Steve keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, because you don't have a conversation like that with Tony Stark and then think everything's going to be alright. And sure enough, Tony starts making demands, ordering Steve around and watching expectantly, like he really thinks Steve's going to go along with it.

"Go try these on," Tony says imperiously, dropping four garment bags next to Steve on the couch, and Steve doesn't need to see Natasha's eyebrows to go up like that when he unzips one of them to realize that the suit inside is worth a lot of money. Like, a lot of money. 

"I can't, Tony. This is too much."

"Fiddlesticks, it's nothing." Which it very well might be as far as Tony's concerned, but that doesn't change Steve's mind.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"But—"

_"No."_

Or a week later:

"Make me some coffee, Steve."

He rolls his eyes. It's not that Tony was ever particularly effusive with "please" and "thank you" before, but they seem to have completely disappeared from his vocabulary recently.

"Ask nicely, and I will."

Tony lifts his head off the counter and looks at him with betrayed eyes.

"You're going to begrudge a man who's gone without sleep for over forty hours one measly cup of coffee?"

"If that man asks in an impolite manner, then yes."

"You suck," Tony says, and he's definitely pouting. "Please, and thank you."

"Tony—"

"Fine, fine, will you _please_ make me a cup of coffee, oh, wonderful and noble Steve, Captain of America and of my pants?"

Steve rolls his eyes, but he lets that second part go, because Tony always has to get the last word in, and besides, he'd be quite happy to be captain of Tony's pants if he'd let him.

Actually, he has no idea what "captain of my pants" means now that he thinks about it, but he knows what he wants it to mean, and really, that's all that matters.

Or three days after that:

"Get in that helicopter, Rogers!"

And Steve sighs, lowering the foot that had been raised to climb the ladder up to the helicopter. It's not like Tony telling him to do it should change anything; they'd just finished foiling the enemy, everyone else is already seated, and he'd been all set to go aboard, but now that Tony's making an issue of it, Steve can't let it go. He frowns at Tony, but the suit's faceplate is down, so who knows if it has any effect on him?

On second thought, this is Tony. Of course frowning has no effect on him.

"Must you?"

"Must I what?" Tony asks, and even in the suit, Tony can't pull off the air of injured innocence.

"I was willing to put up with it at home, but we're still technically in the field, Tony, and that's really not appropriate behavior—"

"So what you're telling me is that you don't mind the commands, but that there's a time and a place for it? And it's not when we're doing battle. _I see._ "

"That's not what I said—"

"What's that?" Tony interrupts, putting a hand to where his ear would be if he weren't in full armor. "There's a bat on my head?”

“What?” Steve asked, taken aback.

“That can't be right! Sorry, there seems to be some kind of interference with my audio. Must've been that last pass when I got knocked into the wall. I couldn't make out what you said, over."

"Tony—"

"There's a pony? Where? We should call Animal Control. Wait, they might try to take the Hulk, never mind, bad idea. Over," Tony says, and Steve already knows he's not going to win this, doesn’t seem to win any of these bouts with Tony, but it never stops him from trying.

“Can you be serious—”

“I’m not _delirious._ It’s an audio glitch, I told you! You know what, I’m just going to fly to the mansion ahead of you guys and work on the problem. Catch you later,” Tony says, and he takes off, leaving Steve standing by himself, wondering how it’d all gone so wrong. 

\-----

He means to talk to Tony about it, he really does, but Tony is very good at not being where you think he’s going to be, so there’s never a chance to sit down with him one-on-one. And after two weeks go by without any more orders, he starts to optimistically think that Tony’s given up on the idea.

Yeah. He thinks he really should’ve known better, too.

“Good morning,” he says as he walks into the kitchen. Bruce waves at him groggily, and Clint grunts from the table where he’s working on the crossword puzzle. Tony doesn’t answer at all, but he’s huddled over something on the counter, working on who knows what, so Steve’s not surprised. 

He goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of eggs, grabbing another carton, too, in case he can get Tony to eat some as well. Sometimes, if he sneaks food in front of Tony, he’ll just start eating without paying attention until it’s too late.

“Hand me that wrench next to the stove, will you?” Tony asks distractedly, and Steve frowns, because what’s a wrench doing next to the stove anyway, but he grabs it, holding it out to Tony without even thinking about it.

“ _Thank you,_ Steve,” Tony says, and he doesn’t look up, but Steve can see the smile from where he’s standing, and oh no.

\-----

It’s the tone of voice, Steve decides later after he’s gotten Tony his tablet from his bedroom for the third time that day. It’s so mild and _reasonable_ , he doesn’t know why it sounds so reasonable, but it does, and there’s no expectation of questioning or defiance, just simple obedience, and that’s what he does, he obeys, not even thinking about it until he’s in the middle of doing whatever it is Tony wants him to do.

It’s like some horrible superpower really, and Steve should probably mind more than he does, but he can’t bring himself to be upset. He likes being useful, and well, Tony puts him to use. It’s comforting almost. He’s never been the type of person to have people waiting on him, but there are people and machines to take care of the house, the lawn, the cars, and he likes being able to do something for Tony considering everything Tony does for the team. Besides, unlike the majority of the rest of the world, Tony doesn’t want anything from _Captain America_ , he wants stuff from _Steve_ , and it’s a distinction that he appreciates.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I found another one! And from last year at exactly around this time. Might as well slap it up here...

“You want me to do what?” Steve asked faintly, eyeing the . . . thing on the bed.

“C’mon, Steve, it’ll be fun!” Tony said, putting himself in Steve’s line of sight, as if not seeing it meant Steve didn’t know it was there. “Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum!”

“What?”

“Right, wrong holiday. Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas! With rum,” Tony added as an afterthought, wrapping his hand around Steve’s neck, his thumb caressing his jaw. “Look, we’re under the mistletoe.”

“Tony,” Steve said, shaking his head slightly, although not enough to dislodge Tony. “You covered the entire _ceiling_ in mistletoe. We’re _always_ standing under the mistletoe.”

“That’s because I am a genius,” Tony said and tugged Steve down for a quick kiss. “Now about my Christmas present . . .”

“I got you a present,” Steve protested.

“And I love it,” Tony said, the soft look on his face convincing Steve that he was being truthful. Tony was a hard man to shop for, and Steve had finally given up trying to buy something one of the world’s wealthiest men didn’t already have. Instead, he’d painted a picture of the team laughing together based off a photograph Pepper had taken during last year’s Christmas party. It’d been right before the two of them had started seeing each other, and Tony and Steve had been standing side by side, the expressions on their faces revealing a lot more than either of them had realized at the time. 

“This is actually more of a Christmas present to myself. You just happen to be the messenger. The deliveryman. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to wear those cute shorts those guys always have on—”

“Tony—”

“Steve,” Tony said, smiling and looking unbearably fond, and Steve knew he was going to give in. Of course, he’d known that as soon as Tony had said he had a small favor he wanted to ask Steve. “You don’t have to. You can say no, now or later. Yes, I made it with you in mind—”

“I don’t know if that worries me more or less,” Steve muttered.

“Oh, definitely more. I mean, less,” Tony said quickly. “So much less. Obviously. Live a little, Steve! You’ll like it; I promise. I can _guarantee_ that I’ll like it. Besides, it’s Christmas!”

“Yes, but you’re just using Christmas as an excuse.”

“True. But that doesn’t change the date, or the fact that it’s the season for giving, _or_ that I’ve been a _very_ nice boy this year. Or a naughty one, depending on which you like better,” Tony said, leering cheerfully. 

“I don’t think naughty boys get presents,” Steve said, wondering how his life had come to the point that he sounded like a character out of one of those porn movies Tony liked so much.

“Like I said, I’ve been very, _very_ nice. Please, Steve,” Tony said, brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone. “For me.”

Which was how Steve found himself sitting naked against the headboard, Tony’s invention in his hand, almost hidden under a pillow, with Tony sitting in a chair at the end of the bed. 

At least Tony had dimmed the lights, Steve thought. 

Of course, that was when Tony said, “Spread your legs a little wider for me, Steve,” and all hope that this wouldn’t be half as embarrassing as he thought it was going to be flew right out the—thankfully closed—window.

He did it though, took a deep breath and then settled a little lower onto the bed, let his legs fall further open so there weren’t even shadows to offer a sliver of modesty.

He heard Tony’s sharp inhale, watched as Tony went completely still, and the knowledge that Tony was as affected as he was helped ease some of the nervousness inside of him. 

And Steve _was_ affected, much more than he would’ve thought possible considering the idea of doing this for Tony hadn’t aroused him. The reality, however, was a little different.

Tony had barely touched him as he’d helped take off his clothes, but Steve’s cock was already hard against his stomach, and his heart was pounding like it was trying to escape the confines of his chest. If this was how he felt before they even got started, how was he going to feel by the time he’d gotten Tony’s invention inside of him?

“Start with your fingers,” Tony said, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, hiding the lower part of his face behind his clasped hands.


	27. Chapter 27

The first thing Tony smells when he walks into the door is the heavy, almost-sour smell of an omega in heat.

 _Oh fuck_ , he thinks, because there are only two omegas on the team, and Clint went out on assignment three days ago. That means that Steve is in heat. Steve. Is in heat.

He whimpers a little bit.

He lifts his shirt and covers his face, breathing through his mouth shallowly, but it really doesn’t help. It doesn’t help at all actually, and he imagines that he can almost taste it on his tongue, Steve’s scent, his desire.

“JARVIS,” he grits out, and wow, he is so hard right now. “Do not, _do not_ , no matter what I say, or what threat I make, or how many things I break, let me into Steve’s room until three days from now. Acknowledge.”

“Yes, Sir. I will not allow you to enter Captain Rogers’ room for 72 hours.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, and relaxes just a little, because it’s out of his hands now. He can’t get to Steve, can’t ruin their friendship by letting his knot take over his brain and make a pass where it’s not wanted. He’s safe.

So it shouldn’t hurt to stand outside Steve’s door and just . . . smell him a little bit. Just. Just smell him.

It’s not like he’s going to get the chance to do it again. Steve hasn’t been been awake for even a full year yet, and Tony knows it’s just a matter of time before he finds someone, someone kind and funny and gorgeous with a knot big enough to make Steve—

Woah, _woah_ , Tony thinks and he doesn’t actually remember walking over to the hallway, but here he is. He tries to take a calming breath, but the scent is more concentrated now, and oh fuck, Steve smells really good. Like, really, _really_ good. Mouth-wateringly good. 

Tony has to swallow, the saliva pooling in his mouth.

Okay. So getting closer to Steve was obviously a mistake. A stupid mistake. An incredibly stupid, terrible mistake. What he needs to do right now is turn around, march right into the elevator, and then lock himself in his lab until this thing is over.

He inhales deeply, and fuck. It should be against the Geneva Convention to be this hard, it hurts so much. 

Who’s he kidding? His lab? He needs to get out of the building. He needs to get out of the _city_. Maybe the state.

And he will. Oh shit, he will, he swears. In a second. 

One more second.

He yelps when Steve’s door starts to open—shit, shit, what the ever-loving hell—and does the only thing he can think of, charging forward.

“JARVIS! I’m trying to get in!” he yells, just in case JARVIS somehow misses it, and the door slams shut. The life of a superhero is never easy, and Tony has learned to be prepared, but right then and there, he decides that one of the smartest things he’s ever done has been to reinforce the doors and mechanize the hinges. 

“Tony?”

“What are you—?” _thinking_ , he wants to ask, but it’s not actually ludicrous that Steve would want to leave his room. The whole house reeks of the potential for sex, but Tony had eaten breakfast here this morning, so Steve can’t be too far along.

“Why would you—?” _open your door_ , is the next question, but on second thought, it makes him sound a little crazy, and obviously that’s not such a huge issue right now considering he just dived at Steve’s door while yelling at JARVIS, but there’s no reason to give him even more fodder.

He finally just settles on, “How are you doing?” in his blandest voice possible, going for nonchalant and succeeding if he does say so himself.

“I’m not . . . not doing so well. I think I have a fever. I was going to get some aspirin just now, but then you came. What are you doing? Is something wrong with the door?”

“There is definitely something wrong with something,” Tony hedges, and is it possible that Steve doesn’t know he’s in heat? He’s in his twenties. He has to have gone through one by now. Right?

Right?


	28. Tumblr prompt: florist!Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shirokou on tumblr asked for: Good Morning! *wave* Um, if you’re looking for a prompt, maybe Steve/Tony with Steve as a florist. Tony goes to pick up a “Get Well” bouquet for Pepper or Rhodey, and he keeps going back for more flowers since Steve is cute.
> 
> I totally...forgot about the "Get Well" portion of this, so... What can you do.

Tony knows fuck-all about flowers. He could point out a rose reliably--he’s given enough of them to his dates--but that’s about it. It wouldn’t normally be a problem since Pepper long ago hired a florist exclusively for Tony who provides tasteful date bouquets, birthday bouquets, get-well-soon bouquets, and of course, the ever popular, we’re-very-sorry-about-him-there’s-nothing-we-can do bouquets, but unfortunately, that’s not an option right now. He’s five minutes out from picking up the lovely Gabriella, and he may have accidentally just crushed her flowers.

“Damn it.” That’s the last time he tries to fiddle with machinery while he’s driving. He means it this time.

JARVIS directs him to the nearest florist, and luckily, it’s next to a restaurant with an actual parking lot. Convenient, and besides, he’s only going to be a couple of minutes; no one’s going to notice.

He ignores the the flowers already on display and heads inside, and what. What.

The company florist does _not_ look anything like this.

“Hi, can I help you?” tall, blond, and handsome asks, and what are with those ridiculous arm muscles? Florists aren’t supposed to have biceps like that.

Or thighs like that. Or a shoulder to waist ratio like that either. Tony would liken him to a piece of art, but while some of the Greek classics came close, he’s really never seen the guy’s body proportions except in porn, so.

“I need twenty-four of your best roses, if you please,” and if his smile is a little more flirtatious than charming, well, who could blame him.

“Sure,” he says, and as he gets closer, Tony makes out the “Steve” on the nametag. “This way.”

Just as he’d thought, Tony’s outside with his flowers a scant few minutes later. Gabriella’s waiting after all, and he would hate to disappoint. Still, he makes a note of Red, White, and Blue Flowers in his phone. He might just be in this neck of the woods and need to drop in again sometime.


	29. Tumblr prompt: 1939 Bucky and Steve hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theactualcluegirl on tumblr asked for: Winter Soldier glomps tiny Steve in 1939.
> 
> I've never written Bucky before, and I didn't know what to do with this prompt, so this is what happened. idk

One second he was sparring with Natasha, and the next, he was standing in the middle of an alley. 

Bucky whipped around, not giving himself the time to wonder, because hesitation meant death, and he was sure he was going to see Hydra agents surrounding him--but all he saw was the tail end of a cat, turning onto the sidewalk.

What in the hell? he thought, staring after it. Which was when he noticed the people walking past the alley, the cars driving by--

What in the _hell_? 

\-----

It wasn’t hard to find a newspaper in the trash and find out the date. August 16, 1939. He’d been a kid back in 1939, a snot-nosed punk who thought the world owed him something, and he was going to go out and get it. He hadn’t even known all the shit he didn’t know and hadn’t had a single clue about what was in store for him, him _or _Steve--__

__Fuck, Steve._ _

__It probably would’ve made a lot more sense to try to find Howard Stark since he was some kind of genius and might be able to figure out what the hell was going on, but Bucky didn’t know how he’d gotten there in the first place, and he sure as hell didn’t know Stark, although if he was anything like his son, then maybe that was a good thing, and the only thing that really mattered at that moment was finding Steve._ _

__It was short work getting a shirt to cover his arm. The tank top he was wearing made the metal stand out like a sore thumb, but luckily, people were still hanging their clothes out to dry, so he snagged one as he went over the rooftops._ _

__He wasn’t used to traveling the city from that vantage point, but eventually, he started seeing familiar territory, and once he knew where he was, it didn’t take long to reach Steve’s building._ _

__Late afternoon, that meant Steve was still at work, painstakingly illustrating someone else’s words and hoping they’d give him a chance to do his own work. That’d all change, of course, once the war started and the draft, and then the only thing in Steve’s mind would be doing his part, doing _something_ , because he’d never been the type of guy to sit back and watch._ _

__Still wasn’t._ _

__Almost three hours went by before he could see Steve’s distinct frame coming down the road, and he swung down from his hiding spot and made his way to intercept Steve at his door, hiding in the shadows until Steve was only a few feet away._ _

__“Buck?” Steve asked, faltering, and Bucky wondered what he saw when Steve looked at him, if everything was written on his face, all the years and all the things he’d done, if he looked anything like the Bucky Steve had known in 1939. “Bucky?” Steve said, his voice softer this time, and he took a step closer._ _

__“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said, his voice stupidly hoarse, even though he was fine, because going back over seventy years into the past wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to him. It didn’t even come close._ _

__He didn’t mean to hug Steve then, had meant to keep a little distance so Steve wouldn’t notice the arm right away, but he found himself doing it anyway, wrapped himself around Steve and held on tight, and he didn’t know why this felt like coming home when nothing before this had, but it did._ _

__“Hey, Buck,” Steve said and didn’t ask any questions, just held him back._ _


	30. Tumblr prompt: Steve on his knees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-and-out on tumblr asked for: Steve on his knees saying “thank you”
> 
> I don't know that I did any of these prompts justice, but at least I wrote something...

Tony likes to put Steve on his knees, not as a voluntary act--although, of course, that’s always pretty too--but an involuntary one.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he says, and Steve obeys easily, just like he always does.

There’s no question about who would win in a contest of strength, and while Tony could--and will--probably put something together that can keep Steve right where he wants him, there’s nothing but Steve’s desire to please keeping him where he is right now.

Steve’s control is a lovely thing to behold, but it’s even lovelier when it lays in tatters at Tony’s feet. 

So Tony takes his time, using his hands, his mouth, a few toys that he knows Steve particularly likes. He’s in no hurry, and it’s not like he’s not enjoying himself in the meantime.

He gets a fierce sense of satisfaction when Steve’s legs start to tremble, but there’s still a long way to go. Steve can take so much.

Tony runs his hands down the sides of Steve’s legs when the muscles start jumping, over and over again, presses his tongue even deeper into Steve to stifle the urge to smile.

Steve lets out a sob when his left knee buckles, and he has to lurch forward to catch himself. The vibrator slips out, it’s buzzing getting louder as a result, but the sound doesn’t cover Steve’s breathless, “I’m sorry,” and Tony shushes him, tells him there’s nothing to be sorry for.

Steve’s legs are outright shaking when Tony adds the second slim vibrator, and yeah, it won’t be long now.

He makes sure he’s standing in front of Steve when Steve’s legs finally give out, is there to catch him and lower him gently to the floor, all the while telling him how gorgeous he is and how proud Tony is of him.

Being on his knees is only slightly better for Steve, and he sways into Tony, his thighs shuddering as they try to hold his weight. Tony’s tempted to take it even further, but this is enough for now, he thinks. Maybe next time he’ll take Steve all the way down.

He turns both vibrators up to full speed and barely gets his hand on Steve’s cock before Steve’s coming, his voice all but broken. Tony has to brace himself so that Steve doesn’t knock them to the ground as all his weight comes to rest on Tony, but he doesn’t mind. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers into his shoulder a minute or so later, and Tony’s not sure for what. For the experience maybe, or for the incredible orgasm, or for just keeping him from falling, who knows, but it’s nice to hear nonetheless, and Tony presses a kiss to head in reply.


	31. Tumblr prompt: massage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked for: Steve/Tony, massage ;)
> 
> This is my brain.

“Ow. Fuck. Ow!” Tony said as the most excruciating pain he’d ever experienced before in his life shot down his back.

He swore he could _hear_ Steve roll his eyes.

“If you’d just relax--”

“The whole point of a massage is to relax, Steve, not to be pummeled or, or _bruised_ , or whatever it is you’re doing,” Tony said, rolling onto his side out of self-preservation. When Steve had offered to give him a massage, he’d been delighted and had already made plans on how things would segue into sexy times. 

That was before he’d come to understand that to Steve, “massage” actually meant “maim.” 

He glared at Steve and pointed his finger threateningly at him when Steve tried to get closer.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to be gentle--”

“Try harder next time,” Tony told him, but then he sighed at the crestfallen expression on Steve’s face. “Fine. Let me show you how it’s done.”

They switched places on the bed.

He was kind of tempted to go a little kamikaze on Steve in retaliation--the worst pain of his life, really--but he controlled himself and started by rubbing Steve’s shoulders.

“See?” Tony said, using moderate pressure. “Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Um, do you mind doing it a little harder?”

“Sure, like this?” Tony said, adding more pressure.

“A little bit more?”

“This?”

“Maybe a little bit…?”

“Like _this_?” Tony said, kind of annoyed, and put all his strength into it.

He honestly didn’t know who was more startled by the moan Steve made then, although from the expression on Steve’s face, it might have been Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve said after a short pause, his whole face flushed. “Like that.”

Ten minutes later, Tony was dying. It was worse than working out, than sparring with Steve without the suit, then going ten rounds against a zillion Doom Bots. The harder he massaged Steve, the more Steve liked it, the kinky bastard, and Tony was exhausted. 

_I might never use these hands again_ , he thought mournfully, staring at his poor abused fingers.

“Okay,” he said, using the back of his hand to slap Steve’s ass and wincing at the resulting throb in his fingers. “See? That’s how it’s done.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, rolling onto his back, and _hellooooo_. Steve had _really _enjoyed his massage apparently.__

__Later, as Tony rested on his back while Steve rode him for all he was worth, he decided giving Steve a massage wasn’t so bad after all._ _


End file.
